Three Women

THREE WOMEN Celine Conway

They came unexpectedly, one steamy morning, to a lonely rubber plantation in the Malayan jungle - Lisa, a nurse who had survived a grim experience; Imogen, frankly looking for a husband; and young Nell Patmore. The men on the estate, including the masterful plantation manager Dean Millard, had got along for years without women, and got along, they thought, rather well. How would this invasion affect their rationally ordered lives?

CHAPTER I IT was a fairly wide stretch of river. Dawn had painted pink streaks across it, but the water near the banks was black beneath overhanging trees which dangled festoons of vine flowers and pale creepers. Here and there an expanse of swamp was visible between the trees, a tangle of woody growth rising from a glaucous brown bed that gave off the rank smell of decaying foliage. Nell knew the plantation must still be some way off. Was it safe yet, she wondered, to start up the outboard motor? If she did, the other two would awaken, of course. Nell studied them. Lisa slim and compact, the coil of chestnut hair still tidy after a night against a soiled cushion, but a line or two showing about the closed eyes and mouth; and that other one, Imogen Cornell, who had nestled in the rest of the cushions with a cloud of fine black silky hair framing her lovely face, and her elegant feet supported by the white leather suitcase she had insisted on bringing along with her. A queer person, Imogen, thought Nell; clad more for an English regatta than a trip along a river in Malaya. Still, she carried the white suit superbly, and it seemed to be made of that rare commodity, a genuinely crease-resisting fabric. Nell looked down at the worn knees of her own slacks and lifted nonchalant shoulders. She couldn't see herself in anything but shorts or slacks or a cheap cotton frock. In a hot country comfort came first; that was what she always told her father when his conscience got out of hand. Silks would have rotted away, unused, because the only people they entertained at the bungalow were police or army officers who invariably came in uniform and couldn't stay long. And most of them treated her as if she were still sixteen; she was Jim Patmore's daughter, a tow-headed youngster who would get tired of it all one day, and go back to England. No one quite believed she was happy living with her father.

No one appreciated how wonderful it had been to leave the narrow, corroding atmosphere of her aunt's house in Norfolk and travel away to her father at Kahpeng. For years she had envied girls who lived with their parents, or even with one parent, and regularly she had stated her one overwhelming desire in letters to her father. Then she had left school, and Jim Patmore had assured her she could now study art or anything else for which she'd a mind; to which Nell's reply had been: "I'd like to study you for a while. I promise not to be a nuisance." He must have been weakening for some time, because he gave in almost at once. And when at last he met her at Singapore, he said, quite gently for him, "I'd have had you out sooner if I'd known you favoured me. I was afraid you might be like your mother; she hated it here." She became aware that Lisa Kenfield's eyes were open. They were nice eyes, kind but enigmatic in their dark grey depths, and they smiled just slightly as they met Nell's clear green gaze. Nell had often thought how strange it was that she had had to come all the way to Kahpeng to meet such an English woman as Lisa. But perhaps Lisa had been conditioned by the climate; something, certainly, had given her an unshakable poise and a philosophy which carried her calmly through danger and tragedy. Slowly, the older woman sat forward and combed up her hair from her temples with her finger-tips. "What a thing it is to be as young as you are," she said; then nodded at the recumbent form between them. "Imogen is only twenty-four, but she's lost that girlish outlook—if she ever had it. Haven't you slept at all?" "I dozed," Nell told her. "You two were much more tired than I. You must be hungry, too." "Not very. The sleep was refreshing, but I'd feel better for a wash. The river doesn't look very inviting, does it?"

"Wet a handkerchief. It'll help, till we get to the plantation. I believe Mr. Millard has a modem bathroom with water laid on through a filter from the river." Languidly, Imogen stirred, but she did not sit up. She looked into the creepers overhead, gave a shudder and closed her eyes again. "Are we still here?" she complained. "What is this—a club social?" "I didn't like to start up the motor till you were both awake," said Nell, gazing with interest at the long red nails and white fingers which tapped the yawning scarlet mouth. "We can get going now." "How far do you think it is?" "I'm not sure. I haven't been there since just after I arrived from England. It may take us a couple of hours." "Oh, lord. It's all very well for people like you and Lisa, who are used to this kind of picnic, but I do think you might have considered me. Why in the world couldn't we have gone on last night?" "I don't know the villages on the banks," Nell answered firmly. "It wouldn't have been wise to run a motor boat along the river in the darkness." "I endorse that," said Lisa, uncoiling her hair. "Have patience, Imogen. We're lucky to have Nell and her boat at our disposal." "I'm stiff," said Imogen thinly, "and my back aches." "We might still be in bandit country," Lisa pointed out dryly. "Cheer up." Nell spun the motor, enjoyed its sudden roar as she made for midstream, and sat back to watch for the first sign of rubber trees. Imogen opened the white case, used a cleansing lotion on her face

and delicately made up again; she was not going to be caught unprepared, Lisa's hair had gone back into its knot, and Nell found herself passing a quick hand over her own short streaky curls. She hadn't thought to bring a comb, hadn't even paused to reflect upon the appearance she would present to Dean Millard, who had once had a big row with her father. Still, with luck she wouldn't see him. As soon as Lisa and Imogen were delivered at the plantation house she, Nell, could return to Kahpeng. The noise of the outboard motor sent bright birds flapping from one side of the river to the other; it probably also stirred unseen villagers, but the Malays, Nell had discovered, were only a mildly curious people, and certainly they would not molest anyone. Imogen raised her voice to make herself heard. "This man Millard— how can he help us to get to Singapore?" Nell's red lips took a humorous curve. "Dean Millard will think of something—he's that sort. But you may have to wait at the plantation for a week or so." "No!" Imogen spoke energetically but looked pathetic. "I've had more than enough of this beastly country. It's spoiled everything for me. I came out to get married and found my fiancé had taken to drink, took refuge at the medical mission and was set upon by bandits." "Hardly set upon," commented Lisa. "I thought they treated us remarkably well." "They killed your brother!" "Yes," quietly, "but he drew a gun. I always told him we'd be safe so long as we were unarmed, but he was fanatically opposed to

terrorism." She pulled in her lip. "I hope the Malay doctor will be able to keep the clinic going. I'd have liked to stay there." "You must be crazy," said Imogen. "All I want is a large first-class cabin, in a luxury liner." Lisa shrugged, but her gaze rested with some compassion on the other's clear features and petulant mouth. Nell said suddenly, "That's what you need, too, Lisa a gay trip home. You've lived away from people for too long. It's making you old." "I'm thirty-two, and that's not young, my child." "It's no age at all!" Nell retorted, with all the confidence of youth. "What will you do when you get to Singapore?" "Offer my services to some other mission, I suppose." "But I wish you wouldn't! Not unless you marry the man, anyway." Fleetingly, Lisa smiled. "That's frightfully orthodox, coming from you. You don't look in the least romantic, Nell, but I believe you are. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that there are some women who just haven't any inclination towards marriage?" Imogen shook out a clean handkerchief. "It never occurred to me," she inserted, "till I met you. You just don't care about men, do you?" "Not in the way you do. I value friendships, but I also value my worth to the community. I have nursing experience, I've organised a school and taught in it and done numerous other jobs, but somehow marriage has always seemed to me to be a luxury." "Haven't you ever met anyone you'd like to marry?" asked Nell curiously.

Lisa gave a brief laugh. "It's years since I had time to think about such things." "But now that you have time?" "I like the way of life I've chosen, and men have no part in it, except as friends." She nodded absently towards the undergrowth. "There's a crocodile." Imogen screamed. Nell steadied the boat and remarked with relief, "Rubber trees on this side. We'll reach the landing stage in five minutes." Actually, it was somewhat longer than five minutes before they tied up at the short jetty, because at the next bend in the river they were met by another motor boat of much larger proportions than their own; the real thing, Nell noticed admiringly; it even had a steering wheel and cabin quarters. The Malay on the prow waved cheerily, and the next moment he almost slid into the water because the launch veered sharply and sped towards the lesser craft. Nell held her breath, waiting for the impact and flying timbers. But the larger boat turned smartly, cut out its engine and ran alongside. From behind the wheel emerged a figure in khaki shorts and a white shirt; a tall figure with burnt-teak, angular features which somehow contrived to look both aloof and derisive. Nell had only seen those horrid blue eyes and the hooked nose once before, two years ago, but there was no mistaking them. She switched off the outboard motor. "For the love of Mike," he said softly, his glance moving from Lisa to linger rather longer upon Imogen. "If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it Three white women alone on a jungle river. Where the deuce do you think you're going?"

Oddly, none of the women answered. His jaw jutted slightly, and the keen gaze slid along to take in the faded slacks and white-clad shoulders of the youngest of them. "The Patmore child," he observed, "and this is your father's boat. Where were you making for?" At his tone, Nell tingled. She looked at Lisa. "This is Mr. Millard," she said stiffly. "If you'll both hop into his boat I'll get along." A faint ring of metal in his voice, he said, "You didn't answer my question. Where were you going?" Nell looked stubborn, and Lisa replied quickly, charmingly, "Kota Baran is well off your route, so you may not have heard that the mission there was overrun by bandits several days ago. When it happened Miss Cornell was my guest there, awaiting transport to Singapore. . . ." "Were there no men with you?" he broke in sharply. "My brother resisted and was killed. I'm afraid it was his own fault." She paused, then went on: "The bandit leader gave us food and an old ox-cart, and I drove down from the hills to Kahpeng, hoping Mr. Patmore would be able to help us. Unfortunately, Nell was there alone." Again the swift raking glance. "Alone at Kahpeng?" "We have the emergency police post two miles away," Nell said quickly. She hated having to explain to this man, but he had made no move to help the other two into his boat, and there was no derision in his manner now; only an eagle-eyed determination to get at the facts. "My father won't let me go with him into the bush."

"No?" A hint of sarcasm pointed his tones. "I don't suppose he paused to reflect which was the greater danger—to take you or leave you. Jim Patmore thinks only in terms of animals." "That's why he's such a good game warden," Nell answered hardily. "Do you mind if Lisa and Imogen get into your boat now? I'd like to be home before dark." "How long have you been travelling?" "Since about four o'clock yesterday. We laid up for the night." "Why didn't you start out earlier?" "I thought the plantation was nearer to Kahpeng. Last time I stopped at your place my father and I were travelling up by steamer." "So you were." Gratuitously he added the information, "You don't look a day older, but then you're of an age to enjoy a precarious mode of living." His manner changed; he turned smilingly to the other two women. "You must be needing a rest and a good meal. I could lift you into this boat, but it isn't really necessary. I'll go ahead and you can follow." Nell didn't argue; it wasn't much use till she was alone in her own little vessel. The launch sped away and her boat purred after it. She saw bamboo houses on stilts at the water's edge, a few Malays lazily attending to their nets, and the log landing stage where a couple of boys crouched, ready to tie up the boats. The launch slipped into its accustomed position and Nell threw a rope and was pulled in. Lisa accepted a strong brown hand and took the little jump on to the jetty. Imogen requested two hands to which she held very tightly while she regained her balance. Nell remained seated.

Dean Millard bent towards her. "Come on," he said. "You must come to the house for some breakfast." "I have some biscuits," she said, not looking at him. "I'd rather go." .His voice lowered. "Because I broke your father's rifle? Did he tell you why I did it?" "I don't care," she said vexedly. "Just because he happened to be on your land. . . ." "Leave it," he stated abruptly. "It was merely one of those things. I'm not at war with Jim Patmore, and I'm certainly not quarrelling with a girl of seventeen." "Eighteen!" "All right, eighteen. Come and have breakfast. It won't take long." Lisa leaned forward beside him. "It's not eight o'clock yet, Nell. Even if you don't leave till mid-morning, you'll easily get back before dark. I do want to thank you properly for all you've done." Nell saw the lean fingers resting lightly on the rope which secured her little boat; they were not to be struggled with. She gave in as gracefully as she could, but managed the leap without assistance. It would be good to have a decent meal before she started back, anyway. Fifteen minutes later they were eating tinned bacon and a scramble of powdered eggs with .thin hard toast. It turned out that Dean hadn't breakfasted yet, either. He had been taking a shower when boys ran in with the news that a "mo'boat" containing two white women and a boy was heading towards the plantation.

"I went out in the launch to investigate. It hadn't occurred to me that the boy might be the little Patmore. By the way, Helen, when is your father due back?" Nell said, "He's only been gone a week, so it may be a month before he returns. He's gone north." Without apparent interest, he asked, "What do you do while he's away?" "I help Ting with the house and garden. Sometimes the children come for an English reading lesson, and the mothers are learning to use our sewing machine. In the evenings, I study." She stopped suddenly, aware that he had halted in the act of cutting a piece of toast and was looking at her. His mouth had an amused dent at one corner. "What do you study?" "Comical, isn't it?" she said crossly. "That was the last thing you expected, wasn't it?" "Now, Nell," murmured Lisa soothingly, and she changed the topic. "Mr. Millard, how soon can Imogen and I get away to Singapore?" "I'm not sure. It's not a pleasant journey these days because the steamer has ceased operations. I can't offer you my launch because I haven't that much petrol, but I shall be sending a freighter full of rubber down-river in about a fortnight, and you might go on it and transfer to another ship at the coast. By road it's both sticky and tricky." "A fortnight?" Imogen echoed. "What do we do till then?" "I've been wondering about that." He pushed his cup towards Lisa for more coffee. "Selwyn has quarters over at the other building—he's lie

chap who runs the place—and I think we could fix you up there. He could use my spare bedroom here, till you leave." Imogen's dark eyes stared at him pleadingly. But the entreaty might have been part of an act, for presently some other quality came into her expression. Obviously, she was of the sort who make the very best of a boring business. Lisa was philosophical. "One thing one learns .in this country is never to be in a hurry. We shall be very glad to accept your hospitality, won't we, Imogen?" As soon as they rose from the table Dean excused himself. "I have a Malay foreman, and I'm in the habit of running him from one part of the plantation to another in the morning. I shan't be half an hour. Have a rest, and we'll arrange about your accommodation when I come back." He went out with his swift lithe tread, and Nell felt as if she had been left high and very dry. He hadn't said good-bye but possibly he hadn't intended to, because he expected her to be here when he got back. No doubt he would make sure she had enough petrol for the trip to Kahpeng, "and load her with supplies. Generosity itself, was Mr. Dean Millard. "Quite a man, isn't he?" remarked Imogen into the silence which had fallen upon his departure. She lay back in the chair which Dean had obviously made his own. "You know, Binks— my fiancé—wasn't bad looking, and while we were parted I used to imagine him growing bronzed and muscular, every inch the masterful Englishman in the tropics. When we met my heart just flopped. He'd put on flesh and wasn't too sure of himself; he perspired more than I did and hadn't the energy of a mouse. He was putting away far too much whisky, but he blamed malaria for his pallor and shaky hands."

"You needn't have run out on him so hastily. You could have given him time to pull up. He might have done it, for your sake." Imogen polished her brilliant nails on the palm of the other hand and inspected the result. "You haven't lived yet, Nell," she said equably. "Even when a man appears to be ideal there's a risk in marrying him, but at least he takes the same risk, with you. To be honest, when I saw Binks so pale and repulsive I discovered I wasn't in love with him at all, and probably never had been. It's a pity about the trousseau—and heaven knows if he'll send it on to Singapore, as I asked. I didn't bring a white wedding dress with me, thank the stars." Nell would not have said why, but she had to ask, "Was he hurt?" "Don't remind me. He collapsed! Got on his knees and made all sorts of promises. . . ." "You're gloating!" Imogen flung an exasperated glance at Lisa. "She thinks I got a kick out of turning him down. Was I happy when I met up with you at the mission?" Nell had turned abruptly and was staring through the window. She couldn't see much. A stretch of grass, a few plantains and wild bananas, a woman carrying a basket on her head and a child rolling a coconut at her side. The coconut, she guessed, had fallen from one of the trees; it would feed one person for a day, maybe longer. It was a pity about the Malays, she always thought. A few yams, a coconut, a little rice and the fruits of the forest; these were what kept them going, and they were tragically easy to come by. Why work? The rubber tappers had to be employed in vast; numbers in order to get a good-sized gang on the job each day. Still, there was no doubt that Dean Millard had his methods.

Imogen was talking about Dean. "What do you suppose he gets out of living in a place like this?" she wondered aloud to Lisa. "Are there any other white people anywhere near?" "The nearest town is several hours down-river. It's possible he goes there some weekends in that launch of his. Then this man he mentioned, Selwyn, is on the spot. I dare say they get along all right together." "But wouldn't you think they'd have wives!" Lisa lit her cigarette. "Why should they complicate their lives if they can do without them? Marriage in these places can't be compared with domestic bliss in England. Even if there were a possibility of it, I wouldn't marry out here in the jungle, and I'm accustomed to the climate and the monotony. In Singapore and Penang a white woman can have a good time and be useful to her husband as well. In these outposts she might become a drag." Nell, who had seldom before considered this subject, unexpectedly expressed an opinion. "I should say it depends entirely on the individual. My mother languished out here because she couldn't forget all the benefits of civilisation she was missing, but my father never has been able to see much good in civilisation, and he just loves Kahpeng and the forest." Imogen cocked a brow. "I think you must be very like him, Nell. But don't be caught by a police or army officer. He'd bore you to death." "I'd rather be bored than shattered," said Nell, and once more she gazed resolutely through the window. "I daresay the lass has something there," remarked Imogen, tapping away ash and winking at Lisa. "There's something rather ominous about the personality of this Millard man: you feel he could soon

shatter a woman if he'd a mind to. What is he, exactly—the plantation manager?" "Yes, among other things. There are three partners in the company, and he's one of them." Lisa shrugged. "I don't know the ramifications, but broadly, each partner runs a plantation and every month or so they get together for a directors' meeting. I believe one of the partners is Dean Millard's half- brother." "It gets interesting. How long has he been here?" "I couldn't say." If Nell had been taking part in the discussion she could have answered that question; Dean Millard had lived in Malaya since he was twenty-one—and he was now thirty-four. At intervals she had heard about him from her father and others; how he was the head of the Gwantan Rubber Estates, how he had played a smashing game of polo in Singapore, or made a public example of a thief on his estate, how he had initiated annual awards for Malays to encourage industry and inventiveness. A revered autocrat, in fact, she reflected a little witheringly. She would never forget her father's dull anger over the broken rifle. It didn't matter that he had afterwards admitted Dean Millard had been within his rights. The gun— his favourite and constant companion on tour—had been ignominiously wrecked and thrown at his feet. And Jim Patmore hadn't been able to do a thing about it. The recollection sent a new rush of hostility along her veins. This house belonged to the beastly man; she wouldn't stay in it a moment longer. She swung round. "Lisa, I'm going. I hope you'll get through to Singapore very soon."

The older woman pushed up out of her chair. "I'll go down to the boat with you." "No, you're tired. Let's say good-bye here." Lisa, the undemonstrative, patted Nell's shoulder. "I'll come back and see you some time. It isn't good-bye." Nell nodded. "All right. See that you do." To Imogen she said, "Cheerio, I hope you'll have better luck with your next fiancé." "I shall, sweetie. I feel it in my bones." Quickly, Nell went from the house and down through the trees to the landing. She would make a fast trip home. With luck she would reach Kahpeng by mid-afternoon and slide straight back into her usualroutine. This place was unsettling, possibly because there were more white people about than she had recently been used to. It had been very pleasant, though, to have the two women in the bungalow at Kahpeng for a few hours; it had altered the place, somehow, agreeably disturbed her sense of isolation. She would have liked Lisa to stay on there, and she half thought the older woman would have agreed, but for Imogen. Miss Cornell had to get a passage home and send a cable to her parents, who were not yet aware that "Binks" had become impossible as a prospective husband; she had professed herself incapable of making her own way to Singapore, though Nell privately considered her more capable than most women of shaping circumstances to her ends. Nell paused momentarily while a three-foot lizard zipped across the path and disappeared among the yellow chalon which grew about the bases of the palms. Preoccupied, she went on to the landing stage and walked down to the thick log post to which her boat had been tied. Almost, she reached out to the post before realising it was bare. She

stared down at the thick dark water which moved gently against the piles of the jetty. The outboard motor boat was gone. For fully a minute she couldn't believe it. Then she turned and called to one of the men who were desultorily hollowing a tree-trunk to form a canoe. "Kueh! Mo'boat—you see?" A grin. "No see. Boy fill motor." This contradictory statement was unenlightening, except that it did suggest that someone had been instructed to make sure she had sufficient fuel. Maybe oil and petrol were kept elsewhere, and the boat had been taken there. Still, she might have been asked; after all, the thing was her father's. Fuming, she backed a pace or two and cast a critical eye over the Millard launch. The sun drew an opaque glare from the window of the cabin and she couldn't see through it, but as she stared a bent head emerged from the side opening, a dark head glossed with sunshine, and broad shoulders followed it He straightened, with his hands in his pockets, and the keen, deep-set eyes roved her, dispassionately. "Don't get tough," he said. Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands. "What are you talking about?" "You're not dense. You know why that motorised cockleshell is no longer there." "I only know," she told him in tight tones, "that it had better be there soon. I want to get away." "Too bad," he said carelessly. "It's already gone bade to Kahpeng without you."

For a long moment Nell was speechless. Her eyes went dark and smouldering, but somehow she kept her head. "Who's taken it to Kahpeng?" "One of my boys. He has instructions to tell your servant— Ting, I believe you said?—that you will not be back till your father arrives, and to go on to the police post and advise them where you are. I know you're going to hate staying here, and I can't say I take to the idea myself, but it's the only way to be sure of your safety. By now, the medical mission may have been retaken by soldiers, but small groups of bandits could still be hiding out in the hills. It might take weeks to round them up, and they probably have their spies, even at Kahpeng. You can't possibly remain there alone." "I would have done, if I hadn't had to bring the other two here!" Dean shrugged. "I hope the police would have taken you over. Since you're here, you'll have to stay, and like it." "I'll get through to Kahpeng somehow!" He lifted an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you won't. None of the villagers would dare take you along the river without my consent, and it would be just as hopeless if you attempted to go by road." He hardened. "What are you so hot about? You'll have a couple of other women to chatter with and we'll find you some clothes. We've plenty of books and food here . . ." "If I were to eat anything more of yours, it would choke me!" "You say that because you've had a good breakfast," he commented mockingly. "Wait till you're hungry again." They had been standing about three feet apart, he slightly below her on the deck of the launch and she with her flat sandals planted

squarely on the landing stage. Now, he took the long upward step which brought him beside her, and looked down into her angry eyes. The air was heavy and warm, surcharged with the queer blended scents of mimosa and durian. The sun dappled them both, hotly, through the bushy crowns of the trees, and Nell's furious frustration leapt between them, palpable and militant. "You do as you like, don't you," she said, her voice low and husky. "Just wait till my father hears about this!" "He'll thank me," he answered negligently. "Come along, child. We have to arrange sleeping quarters for three." Helplessly, she moved with him. Where the jetty met tie spongy earth of the clearing there was an embedded log which he instinctively helped her over, but forcibly she drew her elbow from his grasp. She heard him give an almost inaudible laugh, saw the cynical twist of his mouth, and vowed that she would be revenged upon Dean Millard if she perished in the effort!

CHAPTER II THERE is a joy to be had from the construction of any abode, however temporary. Even Nell admitted that when she walked into the completed bedroom which had been built in half a day from grass matting and branches of palm. It was decided from the start, of course, that she would be the one to occupy it, because Lisa, from seniority, rated Hugh Selwyn's room, and Imogen declared that nothing would persuade her to sleep within grass walls. For her, a camp bed had been installed in the little room known as the office, and another camp bed would have been set in the living-room for Nell had she not demurred. She had not lived at Kahpeng for two years without learning that a shelter of sorts could be run up for nothing in no time. Nell's feelings, that first night at Gwantan, were decidedly mixed. In other circumstances she would have welcomed a stay at someone else's house, but nearly everything Dean Millard said and did rankled. The tongue-in-cheek insistence with which he called her Helen, the care with which he still gave her a fruit drink when the rest took a cocktail or wine, the way in which he accorded her complete but slightly amused attention whenever she expressed an opinion; and, chiefly, the careless arrogance with which he had sent her father's boat back to Kahpeng! One couldn't possibly do more than tolerate such a man. The mattress, she discovered as she lay down, was of foam rubber and so much more comfortable than her own at home that she resented it. However, it was part of this place, like the boy who sat cross-legged outside the improvised door, presumably on guard; another of Mr. Millard's idiosyncrasies. But with the still of a warm night about her a gentler mood stole over Nell. Yes, it was good to be close to white people again and she was glad her parting with Lisa had been postponed. She would like to talk to Lisa about many things.

Quite quickly she fell asleep, and when she awoke at six the sun was bursting from the horizon and the boy had rolled up the doorscreen and stood beside her bed, holding a cup of coffee. He was not particularly young and he had the lazy, endearing smile of his race. "Bath, like tuan?" he asked. "I'll take a dip instead." "Good," he said blithely. "Other ladies want bath." Nell rolled up the legs of the pyjamas she had borrowed from Lisa, slipped on a bath gown loaned by Hugh Selwyn, trod into her own sandals, and went down through the trees to the river. No one bothered her, and she was able to slide out of her clothes and into the water and back, again into the robe without trouble. In her room, she got into the slacks she had worn yesterday, but replaced the shirt with a khaki one which buttoned the wrong side and was large, but smelled of newness and naphtha. She combed up her hair, took a glance into the mirror and decided, with a shrug, that she would look pretty awful if she tried to disguise her tan with a mask of the powder which someone had placed upon the chest. She entered the main building by the kitchen door, gave the houseboy a smile and went on into a long corridor which had three doors on the right and one to the left. The three gave access to the living-room and two bedrooms, and the left- hand one led into the large workroom where Hugh Selwyn conducted his experiments in native welfare. At the end of the corridor the main door stood open, letting in light and fresh morning air. For one man, the living quarters were spacious; possibly they had been built with an eye to the future, when a wife might have to share them. The living-room was inevitably rattan and local wood, but all it had gathered of its owner's personality was a row of pipes which had

evidently been tried out and found wanting. Nell liked those pipes. Unquestionably they belonged to someone solid and unimaginative, someone who was ordinarily competent and not too clever. To Hugh Selwyn, in fact. The set table was pleasing. A hard-wearing check cloth, papaya sections already placed for each person, and a dish of bright fruits in the centre. Nell picked up a banana and absently stripped it. She was still eating , it and turning the leaves of a stodgy-looking book when Lisa came into the room. This morning, Lisa wore one of the three tailored cottons she had brought with her. It was patterned in yellow and black on a white ground and it lessened that businesslike appearance she always strove after. "Hallo, Nell," she said. "How was the hut?" "Fine. I've never slept sounder. Where's Imogen?" "In bed—having her breakfast there. She's annoyed because something bit her rather thoroughly during the night. Let's start, shall we?" With a sprinkling of lime juice and sugar the golden spoonfuls of papaya were delicious, and the porridge was good, too, in spite of powdered milk. They had toast and coffee, and with her second cup Lisa lit a cigarette. She blew smoke through her nostrils and reached for an ashtray. "We could have landed in a worse place, I suppose. I'm not sorry you weren't able to get back to Kahpeng; it's not good for you to be there so much alone, anyway. I told your father that once, and he was displeased." "His only alternative is to send me home, and I'm not going till I have to."

"I lay awake some time last night, thinking about it." She paused, thoughtfully. "I'd have let you go back in that outboard thing because it would never occur to me to stop anyone from going where they belong. But Dean Millard's point of view is masculine and therefore protective. I see now that he was right to keep you here." "Don't tell him so. He already has a high opinion of his own decisions!" Lisa laughed a little. "Never let a man know you're angry with him, Nell. If possible, never be angry with one, because it puts you at a disadvantage. You're not really sorry to have a break from Kahpeng, are you?" "It's what I've been needing, but I wouldn't have chosen Gwantan as a holiday centre. The big rubber boss doesn't really want us here." "He's hospitable, anyway, and I thought he rather cottoned to our Imogen." "Good heavens," exclaimed Nell soberly. "She'd be as happy here as a jonquil in the jungle. You're much more his type." "You'd be surprised," said Lisa tolerantly. "No one knows what kind of a woman will appeal to a man who has reached a fair age without being hooked. By the law of averages, one of these two men should fall hard for Imogen. They don't see so many women that they can afford to ignore the fact of having three on the spot, and she's beautiful." "I don't count." "Perhaps not," conceded Lisa. "The Selwyn man must be getting towards forty and Dean Millard regards you as an exasperating child. Pity there isn't a third, rather younger and more eager. But you have

plenty of time, Nell. You seem to have taken to the country, but it might not be a good thing to marry here." Nell sighed. "Well, there's no hurry. Maybe I'll join you on your next assignment, Lisa." "Oh, no. You've too much ahead of you. You've got to have your time of pretty frocks and dances, of being admired." "Have you had it?" asked Nell, in her direct fashion. "Yes, I have." Lisa was as unemotional as ever. "Don't model yourself on me, my pet. Both physically and mentally you and I are very different. The time will come when you'll have passionate needs and tender longings. I've never known anything so desperate, and I never shall." She looked across the table, a glint of humour in the dark grey eyes. "I believe these days at Gwantan are going to be something to remember. Just think how unlike we all are." Nell didn't have time to think about it, for Imogen came in then. Apparently, bed had grown less attractive as the sun rose, and once she had managed her bath in the little room adjoining the kitchen she had decided to dress. It was a stunning dress, quite unlike anything Nell had seen before except in pictures in the glossy magazines; pink chiffon, sleeveless and with a low round neck which revealed a pretty throat and graceful shoulder lines. Nell felt that she herself looked a tramp, and, darkly, she blamed Dean Millard; she did possess a decent dress or two at Kahpeng. Imogen flicked her fingers airily. "Not bad around here, is it? Quite cool in the house, though it looks deadly outside. I shan't go out." "What will you do, then?"

"Read a bit, if they have something light, and play the gramophone. I expect the men will come in fairly often." Nell stared. "Why on earth should they?" Imogen crinkled her nose and wagged a finger. "Magnetism, my angel. Ever heard of it?" "It would have to be a strong magnet to draw Dean Millard." Imogen laughed breezily. "What will you bet that he doesn't come in to see us to-day?" "Uninvited?" "Of course." Nell said curiously, "You're sure of yourself, aren't you? Sure of your charms, I mean." "My sweet," said Imogen magnanimously, "if you touched up your lips and wore something slinky you could be just as sure of yourself. Getting a man is the easiest thing in the world; it's getting the right one that's tricky." "Don't you think Dean Millard would be tricky?" "With Dean," said Imogen, helping herself to one of Lisa's cigarettes, "the first steps would be the most dangerous because he's so well entrenched behind his own lines. But I've always found it wise to do nothing at all at the start of an affair; nothing, that is, but look and behave attractively. You'd be surprised how often the man is more than willing, when he's not encouraged, to dispense with the first stages!"

Her voice slightly hard, Nell commented, "You must have had a lot of practice. I rather think your Binks was lucky to escape." Unperturbed, Imogen drew at her cigarette. Lisa got up and shrugged. negligently. "Don't let's attach too much importance to these men," she advised them. "If we're only going to be here for a week or two they can't possibly have any significance for any of us. It's good of them to have us here; the; least we can do is to interfere with them as little as possible." When Lisa had gone Imogen knocked ash from her cigarette and gazed speculatively at the tip. "I wish Lisa wasn't so typically a bachelor woman," she said. "I don't enjoy a hunt if there's no competition." "You'll soon find there's plenty of competition," replied Nell offhandedly, "if you try pitting your curves and dark eyes against a few thousand acres of rubber trees." "My dear Nell," returned Imogen, her face lifted and delicately outlined against the light from the window, "a tree is a tree and a woman is a woman, however heartless she may be. All I'm after is a little fun, to break the monotony and make up for those ghastly days with Binks. Believe me, I'm definitely off Malaya." Well, Dean Millard could certainly look after himself, thought Nell; in any case, a bit of a bump might do him good. Upon which thought she went off to make the beds.

Lisa's intention when she had left the living-room, had been to take a walk round the building while the shadows were comparatively long.

But as she passed the door which led into the other section she noticed it was ajar, and an interest in what lay beyond impelled her to open the door wider. What she saw was interesting. It was a long room with a wide aisle down the centre and short ones going off at right angles. Between these lanes were a series of little workshops, and in most of them young men were already busy. At the nearest, Lisa noticed, they were making flat leather shoes of a kind that sold readily in town shops, and further on a couple of potters were at work, fashioning clay upon turntables. Another section concentrated on the old trade of batik, the printing of coloured patterns on silk, and opposite them a loom was working alongside a rope- making section. She wandered the length of the room and came to another door through which she heard the chanting of children. This was more in her line; a school class. Carefully, she turned the handle and peeped in. The children sat on the floor with slates in front of them. They were repeating a rhyme which, translated, sounded horribly biological, but they looked angelic while they did so. The master was a young Malay in a light suit and rimless glasses, and he smiled around impartially and nodded the emphasis. He was teaching them the miraculous effects of physical hygiene. Lisa hadn't quite made up her mind whether to go right in, when a voice close behind her said: "It's the only way, you know. You paint heavenly pictures for the good things in life and appalling ones for the bad." Just a little, Lisa stiffened. It was disconcerting to be found snooping by the man in charge, but there was nothing in the least awe-inspiring about him. True, he was a fair size, but apparently they ran to large sizes in Gwantan because Dean Millard was even bigger. This man looked the harmless, carpet-slipper type; his face was square, his

eyebrows shaggy, and his hair was only slightly darker than her own, with a suspicion of grey at each temple. Definitely homely, she thought. But his next remark made her wonder. "How did you think I looked? Don't I match my voice?" "If you'll remember," she said coolly, "we hardly spoke last night." "I think, as a matter of fact, that I was speechless. With Dean, one often feels that anything might happen, but I must admit that it never occurred to me that I would return from a day out to find my quarters taken over by three women. If I sounded short-tempered in the dark, I apologise." "You didn't sound short-tempered, Mr. Selwyn. If anything, you sounded pleased." This may not have been quite true, but it sobered him. "Really? I can't believe it. I'm quite pleased now, of course," he assured her, "but I'm no longer tired and hungry. I hope you three ladies slept well?" The chanting of the children stopped suddenly, and the teacher turned an Inquiring glance upon Hugh Selwyn. Hugh waved to him to go on and pulled the door shut. He looked for a moment at the poised Lisa, then indicated a side door. "We're disturbing everything. Let's go out." There was a bench just outside the door, but Lisa did not accept his invitation to sit down. She nodded back at the room they had left. "It's very interesting. But what good does it do the rubber estate to teach other crafts?"

"It cuts several ways." He hitched one drill trouser-leg, lifted the foot to the bench and rested an arm along his knee. "They get tired of tapping and Dean doesn't want to employ Indians, so the idea is to teach them other things that they can do when they're not tapping. Idleness is such a curse. As you probably know, these trades are old Malay trades, revived. Dean feels that as soon as one section becomes expert we can open a small factory in that particular line, and so on. Eventually, Gwantan could be quite a place, with its own steamer service." "Oh." She spoke flatly. "I didn't know it was a profit- making venture. I took it to be solely for the welfare of the natives." "A mission, in fact." His eyes, as they met hers, were keener than she had imagined they could be. "We're purely industrial with a sideline in physical health. What's wrong with teaching them to make money by the use of their hands?" She shrugged. "Nothing. I merely happen to consider that the medical aspect should have priority." "The two have to go side by side. People don't remain healthy if they have nothing to do and no way of obtaining important foods. You're out of date, Miss Kenfield." Lisa was not put out. The man didn't exist who could rouse her to anger, and this Mr. Selwyn in particular raised no problems. He knew very little about handling women, she was sure. "You may be right," she conceded, "but I believe that to be human is considered to be out of date, these days." He didn't speak for a moment. Then: "You come from the mission above Kota Baran, don't you? What made you take up missionary work?"

"That's a personal question," she told him evenly, "which I don't propose to answer." "Very well." He drew his foot to the ground and straightened. "Would you like to help in the classroom while you're here?" "No, I don't think I would. You're probably well organised and I should only be in the way. Now that I know you, I'm rather sorry we've taken over your rooms; it must be very inconvenient for you. We'll go as soon as we possibly can." The dismissal in her voice was obvious, but Hugh Selwyn seemed hardly to be aware of it. He gave the impression that he had to get moving on his own work, anyway. With a pleasant nod he said, "You're welcome for as long as you care to stay. Dean and I don't get along too badly." And he walked back into the workroom.

Nell was too busy that day to have much time for personal relationships, and the desire for revenge was forgotten for a while. Like most young people, she could adapt herself to almost any set of circumstances, and though it bothered her a little that the bungalow at Kahpeng should be left so entirely to the uncertain mercies of Ting, she knew it was pointless to worry about trivialities. She could soon put things right when she got back, and it was no use asserting, even to herself, that she would have cared to be there alone with the risk of bandits in the neighbourhood. At the police post she would only have been in the way. It seemed she might as well enjoy these days, though it wouldn't do to display her pleasure to the rubber king. After making the beds and tidying the rooms she went down to the ladang and sought what passed in the village for a general store. It was merely a roof and three walls sheltering bags of rice, salt, sugar and beans and many bales of sarong fabric. It was this last which

Nell sought; not that she had decided to go native, but she simply had to have pyjamas and a dress. Those pyjamas, she decided with an inward chuckle, would definitely be the gayest any white woman ever wore; even the most modest design mixed scarlet blossoms with blue-green foliage. And the length she chose for a dress had an all-over pattern in parrot-blue and flamingo-pink; it startled and fascinated. There was no question of paying for her purchases. The old Malay storekeeper scratched his bony brown jaw and wrinkled his long narrow eyes in a grin. "The mem will have money when she goes home," he said simply. "She will send it." Not only did he trust her, but he lent her an aged sewing machine and a boy to carry it up to her bedroom. So Nell decided on an uncomplicated jumper style for the pyjama top and got busy at once. By lunch time the suit was so near completion that she was able to wash the one borrowed from Lisa, and later, to iron and return it. Over the dress she had to take more time and care. The skirt, a slight flare, was easy, but when it came to exact measurements for the sleeveless bodice she found the twelve- inch ruler definitely hampering. She considered. There must be a tape-measure in this place; if not here in the private rooms, then in the workroom adjoining. She hadn't actually met Mr. Selwyn yet, but she felt sure that any man who took on the work of educating backward peoples must be nice. There wouldn't be much doing there at this time in the afternoon; certainly the sounds of industry had almost died out. She went to the communicating door and opened it. The room was as Lisa had described it over lunch, except that only a few boys were there, cleaning up the mess of the day's labours. She spoke to one of

them in Malay and he thought it mighty funny that she should want to measure with a tape that rolled. With pride he showed her a carpenter's folding ruler which he agreed to lend her for ten minutes, but Nell was saved having to refuse by the opening of the classroom door. Hugh Selwyn paused a moment, then came along with a smile. "So you're the junior member," he said, and told her his name. "Can I help you, Miss Patmore?" "Call me Nell," she said easily. "Everyone does. Have you such a thing as a tape-measure?" "There's one locked in the drawer of the batik table. I'll get it for you." She went with him and watched him use a key and pull open a drawer. He had a casual way. with him that couldn't really be described as charm; companionableness, rather. She felt she had known him a long time, and decided she liked the tiny lines below his eyes and the few grey hairs among the dark brown; they made him old, and safe. He gave her a metal-covered tape-measure. "Sure you have everything else you want?" "Yes, thanks. I raided the work-box in your living-room. It's in an awful muddle, by the way. I'll tidy it for you." He laughed, and looked her over. "I suppose you're hurriedly knocking up clothes. It was tough on you, bringing the others and their suitcases and then finding yourself a prisoner, with nothing. I must say you've taken it well." "I'm seething underneath," she said darkly.

At six o'clock night fell suddenly, and rather than waste the oil in her bedroom lamp she took her sewing into the living- room, where there were a central electric light and two oil- burning table lamps. Imogen was there, idly sorting through a pile of gramophone records. She flicked back a dark curl from her pale forehead. "This man likes all the overworked light classics," she complained. "There's not a dance tune among them." "It's hardly a country club," Nell pointed out. "Still, you'd think they'd go in for something lively, once in a while." She glanced at the blue and pink material. "That's jolly. Where did you pick it up?" "At the store. They sell it for sarongs." "I think I'll buy some of those materials and take them home with me. You never get those sultry patterns in Europe. I'm afraid I'm going to be hard up, though." "Haven't you ever earned your own living?" "Good lord, no!" Imogen looked genuinely horrified. "I couldn't possibly tie myself to being in one place for a certain number of hours, and just think how one's looks must deteriorate when they don't have constant attention. Besides, if I worked I should be too tired to have fun in the evenings. Imagine that!" "Frightful," said Nell. Imogen leaned back, supporting herself with her hands behind her on a chair. "You're a curious person, Nell. You don't seem to have anything that most girls hanker for, yet I believe you honestly like this hellish country."

"I like it all right," came the even reply, as she stitched. "The heat slows you down and the dampness and the insects are pretty appalling, but you get used to them all. I'd put up with a lot to live with my father." "And I'd put up with almost anything not to have to live with mine," Imogen said with a hard sigh. "He has a second wife, and she's the outside edge, too. They spend what they like, but they begrudge me a few pounds when I need them. That's why I was so anxious to come out and marry Binks— but there are limits to what one can endure for the sake of a meal ticket. It's sickening, really, because there's heaps of money in our family, though I don't seem to be one of the lucky ones. Got a cigarette?" "Sorry. There may be some in the cabinet." "Not one—I've looked. That's the worst of pipe-smokers. I think I'll go over to friend Dean for a packet." Nell's glance flickered upwards, then lowered. "Did he come here, after all?" "No, but there's still a chance." The dark head went up suddenly, like that of a listening deer. Softly, she added, "What did I tell you? No other man could walk like that." The firm footsteps came down the corridor and halted. Fingernails clicked on the panel of the open door, and Dean came in, a half-smile on the well-defined lips. "Good evening, ladies," he said in those level, crisp tones. "Did I walk in on something?"

Imogen had changed subtly. Nell hadn't realised before that the mere approach of a man could alter the very atmosphere of some women, make them appear to be many things they were not. Imogen said, "We were discussing men. Absorbing topic." He apparently caught her mood, for the deep blue eyes glinted. "Men in general? Which aspect?" "Not men in general, and the aspect was the age-old one. How do women affect certain men. I had a bet with Nell earlier to-day, and now I've won." His glance at Nell was tolerant but slightly cool. "It wasn't fair to bet with the child on such a subject. You were bound to win. She knows so little." His nod indicated the material in Nell's lap. "That's alarming. Are we going to see you in it?" "You needn't look. One must wear something," she replied hardily. "I've thought of that. My brother will be up at the weekend and if you'd care to give me an order for your requirements—all three of you—I'll send word down to him to bring them. He has the supplies depot for the district almost on his doorstep." "Your brother?" Imogen looked surprised, though her memory could not have been quite so short as she made out. "I didn't know you had one." "A half-brother," he said briefly. "Where's Miss Kenfield?" "Letter-writing, I believe. This is the first opportunity she's had since leaving the mission. Could you spare a cigarette?" He got out his case and flipped it open. Imogen took a cigarette and tapped it on a scarlet nail. The case was lowered towards Nell.

"I don't smoke," she said. "You could try. If you showed you could get through a cigarette we might allow you a cocktail now and then." "I'll get along on lemon squash, thanks." She snapped a thread and folded away the half-finished dress. In a moment she added, "Did you want to see Lisa?" "Yes, if she's available." "I'll tell her," said Nell, and she went out. It was a relief, after having poked her head into Lisa's bedroom, to go out into the soft evening air. This was always the best hour of the day, when the sun was gone though its heat lingered, and the breeze moved the black shapes of the palms against a purple sky. The scents were stronger and sharper, too, exotic and heady yet undefinable, till Nell remembered that cedar was one of the local woods and that in the narrow belt of forest between the clearing and the rubber grew myriads of tropical fruits and flowers. Parakeets quarrelled in the darkness and someone was rhythmically banging a drum, but neither sound impinged upon the peace of the clearing. Fireflies dipped. There was a flutter of hot white lightning but the stars went on winking. Now that the wilting heat of the sun was gone, Nell would have liked to remain outdoors. Like other people in the East, she came awake for the second time each day soon after dark, and she was never tired before midnight. She saw suddenly that Dean was crossing the clearing. Her first impulse was to stand stock-still and hope he would not see her. Then she knew that the light shirt must show up against the surrounding darkness, and she moved on, as carelessly as she could. He might

merely have called "Good night", and passed on, but he didn't. He came straight towards her. In a gently chiding tone he said, "Why did you run out? You'll never learn anything that way." "There are some things I'm not too keen to learn," she answered. "I'm sure of that, but you still can't run away from them. In any case, I don't think anything you'd imbibe from Imogen would do you much harm. Nor, as a matter of fact," with a touch of satire, "would anything you might learn from me— though I daresay you doubt that." "I'll let you know when I've thought about it." He gave his brief laugh. "You're very much on the defensive, aren't you? Are you still angry with me?" "I'm not angry with you, but I don't like you any more than I did." "That's straight, anyway," he said calmly, "but I shouldn't trade too much on that schoolgirl frankness, if I were you. Children get spanked." He moved slightly, towards his house. "I promised to send your two friends some cigarettes. You might take them." "Very well." She fell in beside him and preceded him up the wooden steps into' the house. Only one lamp burned in the living- room, and Hugh Selwyn sat beside it, checking off something on a writing pad. He looked round and gave her a smile. From a cabinet he extracted a large carton of cigarettes, and from the carton he took two packets of fifty, which he pushed across the table towards Nell. "Sure you don't want one for yourself?"

"No, thanks. Do I have to tell them to make these last out?" "No. Cigarettes are one of the commodities we never run short of. By the way, what size dress do you take?" "Dress?" She stared, bewildered. "I told you I'm sending a message to my brother. He may as well bring you a couple of dresses. It's not too good to sweat and be unable to change." "It's so long since I bought a dress," she said uncomfortably. "I'd rather you didn't do anything about it. I'll manage." He shrugged and looked across at Hugh. But he didn't make the remark which apparently had occurred to him. Instead he took a pace towards the door. "I'll see you across the way," he said. Nell didn't point out how unnecessary it was. She said good night to Hugh and went out into the night. Now, a strong odour of woodsmoke and bubbling cooking pots sifted through the trees from the village. Nell could imagine the Malays preparing for their evening meal, all chatter and impish grins. Dean stalked at her side, wordless, and, oddly, she wondered what he felt about this country, whether he considered it only in terms of rubber trees and profits, or whether he too sometimes felt drugged by the damp heat and aggravated by the teeming stillness of the nights, the high- pitched singing of mosquitoes. He seemed so aloof from the physical aspect of it all, so thoroughly impersonal and alone. But he had a brother not so far away. What would he be like, the brother? Surely nothing like Dean? The world couldn't hold two such men! Nell smiled to herself in the darkness. She stopped at the door of the other building.

"How do you like the grass bedroom?" he asked abruptly. "It's fine. I slept wonderfully." "That's your age," he said tersely. "Do you feel safe there?" "Of course. You don't really need to put the boy outside." "If he weren't there, I wouldn't sleep myself. Three women suddenly dumped upon one are a responsibility. I know it's hot, but couldn't you have slept with Lisa? She has the large bedroom." "She deserves it. I wouldn't do anything to detract from her comfort, and anyway, I like the grass hut." "I thought of trying to get word through to your father. Do you know where he is?" "Not exactly. He was after a herd of jungle buffalo that were threatening the villages, but someone brought the news that there were big game poachers in the north." "That sounds strange. There's no need to poach in these parts." A pause. "All right. Don't worry." "Worry?" She looked up at him, large-eyed. "Why should I worry?" "No reason at all. I forgot for the moment that you're the indomitable Nell Patmore. Run along in, and if you're tempted to take a walk later don't go alone, and don't go beyond the ring of lamps round the clearing." "If you say so," she answered pointedly and with a hint of mischief. "Good night, sir." "Good night . . . Helen."

Nell heard him pull the door closed after her, and for a moment she paused in the dimness of the corridor. She was beginning to notice his habits. The way he clipped off some of his words, took certain things for granted and left other things in the air. And he was too fond of being cryptic. Mr. Dean Millard, she decided, was far too accustomed to forcing his will upon others. It was time someone gave a jolt to that ego of his.

CHAPTER III FOR the next couple of days the women did not roam far from the clearing. The daylight hours were monotonous and grillingly hot, and all that could be said for the evenings was that they were a little cooler. As was to be expected, conversation practically dried up between the three of them, and Hugh Selwyn's quarters seemed to shrink till they were all walls and doors. To Nell, life had never before seemed so crowded. That was why, when it came to Saturday morning, she went down to the river and turned along the path which ran between the trees, parallel to the water's edge. Ten minutes later Nell stopped at the mouth of a stream which wandered away from the main river to disappear round a thickly overgrown bend. On the other side of the stream were the rubber trees, battalions of them in precise rows, the ground clear beneath them, the new incisions neat and pale while the old ones were in various stages of healing. She had seen rubber growing many times before. It was the backbone of Malaya, and it had often struck Nell as rather lovely that the main wealth of a country should reside in its trees, though the plantations themselves were by no means beautiful. The trunks were greyish, the branches supported a thin crown of glossy leaves and the earth was kept bare of grass, though at times it would be littered with dead leaves. But the latex ran into the little cups and was collected, it was formed into layers and dried, then baled and shipped. Vaguely depressed, she turned back along the path, and was only then aware that a canoe had pulled in among the mangroves. She stared at the fair man who was stepping out on to a log. He was slim and above average height, his age about thirty; and as he caught a branch to steady himself he looked straight at Nell and gave the sort of laugh that comes from disbelieving one's own eyesight. Nell heard it plainly.

He turned and flung an order to the boy in the boat, and the canoe was immediately pushed out again and headed up-river for the jetty. The man leapt a pool, swung himself round the growth of plantains which swathed a tree-trunk, and came up to her. Undeniably he was good-looking, in spite of the faint lines of dissipation under the eyes. They were strange eyes, too. A light hazel that glittered a little as he let them rove her clear young face. But his smile looked as if he used it often. "Good heavens, how like Dean to under-estimate! I took it that you three were displaced spinsters. You must be the young one who takes size thirty-four!" Nell flushed, caught her breath and laughed. "He must have guessed at it. Are you his brother?" "Harry Millard," with a bow. "What do I call you?" "Just Nell. I didn't know you came by river." "I wish now that I hadn't. I'll have to take you out in Dean's car, if he'll let me have it. He's conservative about such things." He gazed at her, quite soberly. "Why in the world doesn't something like this happen to me? If you'd fetched up at my place I'd have given you a whale of a time. I haven't seen anything like you for years!" "Wait till you. meet Imogen." "After this I'll believe anything." He slipped a hand under her elbow and drew her along. "What has Dean told you about me?" "Nothing at all. We haven't seen him much." "Good old Dean," he said, but his teeth closed rather sharply after he'd spoken. The next moment he was smiling again. "Tell me about

yourself. Did you get a look at the bandits? Are you a fixture or a transient in Malaya? Have you ever been in love?" He was amazingly different from Dean, more likeable but less, she thought, to be trusted; but that, of course, made him more interesting. It was fun to be asked those point-blank questions and to give smiling, evasive answers—except to the one about being in love. "No, I haven't lost my heart," she told him. "I'm going to keep it intact till I get back to England." "Don't bank on it. The darnedest things happen in these places. At least, they do to normal men and women." His glance took in the short light streaky hair, the naturally red lips. "I suppose my brother was unmoved by you three women?" "Completely, but he's been considerate. So has Mr. Selwyn." "I've always said that the woman doesn't exist who could shake Dean." "Has he always been like that?" she asked curiously. He grinned wryly. "Yes, and it's the devil to live up to. He and I grew up in Cornwall, but about three miles apart. We were friendly but not very close. You wouldn't be interested in the details that led to my coming out here four years ago—they're not particularly savoury, anyway. At that time the Gwantan Rubber Company owned only two plantations, but for me Dean took over a third that was on the market. Great of him, wasn't it?" Again the suggestion of smiling sharpness. "I've tried to make a go of it, but you can never make a success of anything you hate—and I detest the sight and smell of rubber." There was an undertone of vehemence in the half-amused voice. "Why in the world do you stay?" she asked. "Surely Dean . . ."

"I shouldn't have told you these family matters," he said easily. "Let's talk about something more pleasant. Do you dance?" .They spoke lightly, till they reached the jetty. The canoe was already tied up and the boat-boy was unloading a few boxes and parcels. Harry told him to bring the lot to the house of the Tuan Besar, and then he walked up to the clearing with Nell. Before they reached the steps she halted. "I won't come in," she said hastily. "We're living over there." "I can't lose you so soon. Come in for a drink." "No, really. We don't hobnob." The moment she had made the remark she wished she hadn't, for Dean had strolled out, and she saw by the sarcastic pull of his lips that he had heard. So somewhat defiantly she added, "Maybe I'll see you later." "Oh, yes," Dean said, "you'll undoubtedly meet again later. How goes it, Harry?" The younger man gave a nonchalant shrug. "Not too bad. I could do with guests like yours." "I'm sure of it," Dean answered dryly. Then to Nell: "You'd better come in out of the sun." "I'm just going." "Wait a bit." Harry drew an envelope from his pocket. "This letter was among our mail about a fortnight ago. Miss Cornell—is she one of you three?" "Yes, it's Imogen. Why did it go to you?"

"The mail-boy was sick and we had to send him back. We kept his mail and sent one of our own boys on with it, but when we were sorting it we came across a few which didn't belong on the river at all and we kept them to give to the next mail-boy. It suddenly occurred to me last night that one of you might be Miss Cornell, so I slipped the letter into my pocket. You might give it to her, Nell." Imogen and Lisa were together in the living-room. Lisa looked up from the old newspaper she was reading, but Imogen, who was shaping her nails, spoke first. "We saw him through the window. What's he like?" Nell lifted her shoulders. "Handsome, and easy to know." "Impressionable?" "He talks that way, but I don't believe he is, really. It's a line he takes. He brought a letter for you, Imogen." The other handled the envelope, gave a brief exclamation at the writing and used her nail file to slit open the flap. Lisa pointed out to Nell a few paragraphs in the newspaper about a garden party in Singapore; it read like something out of this world. Then Imogen gave a gasp and pounded her small white fist on the table. "Just listen to this! It's from an uncle of mine who's simply rolling in wealth. I believe he's gone mad—but what a madness! If only I hadn't been such a fool and run out on Binks!" "Well, what is it?" asked Lisa patiently. "The silly idiot wants to give me his money. At least he did want to, but..." Imogen's dark eyes were sparkling, but she shook her head sadly. "He thinks that by now I may be married to some diplomat in Malaya, and it pleases him so much to think that one of the family

has at last gone to live in the East that as soon as he hears that my marriage is a fact he's going to give me ... you'll never guess. Five thousand !" Faintly she added. "And I'm to be the sole beneficiary under his will, besides." Lisa clasped her hands loosely on the table and shook her head sympathetically. "Poor Imogen. But you wouldn't want to patch things up with Binks, would you?" "I don't know what I want. The old boy's getting on and shouldn't be too long for this world, but he's obstinate. If he hears I'm not married he'll change his mind. He's always had this Far East bee in his bonnet, and he's tried many times to get various nephews and greatnephews to come out here. Being a woman, I didn't for a moment suppose he'd count me in. It's ... it's hellish!" Nell said, "Would it have made any difference if you'd known this before you came out?" "Darling, don't be tiresome," replied Imogen plaintively. "Of course it would have made a difference. If only I hadn't cast Binks off so publicly! Perhaps he even meant all those promises about reforming." "You could have stayed and found out. It's rather late to be sorry, isn't it?" 'Now you're being acid, Nell. What's got into you? After all, this uncle of mine is really rich and beautifully old. Besides, five thousand for a wedding present isn't to be winked at. I didn't want to marry Binks, but . . . well," she ended, exasperated, "I do need that cash." Lisa offered a wicked suggestion. "There are men on the spot, my dear."

"How I know it! But it's too long-term, and too uncertain. Hugh Selwyn is a dull stick and anyway, he'd never come to the point. And Dean," she sighed regretfully; "I could go for Dean, but there'd be the dickens to pay afterwards if he found out about my stupid uncle. And then he'd expect me to live in this steamy hades. I'm sure he's dead against divorce." Nell offered no further comment; she couldn't bear to, because even Lisa seemed to view the matter from the mercenary standpoint. She went out to the kitchen to help the boy prepare lunch. But her mind was not on the preparation of food. She couldn't help recalling Imogen's glib assumption that she could have either of the two men at Gwantan had she wished; and Lisa had apparently agreed. It seemed that Imogen had everything any man could possibly desire in a woman and that she could marry where she chose. At the moment, the time factor was the obstacle. Nell had never before given herself so absorbedly to the subject of men and marriage, and she decided that on the whole she did not care for it. It had unforeseen sharp edges and reminded her that in the matter of love she was immature. She was beginning to feel that she would rather not know too much about that side of her nature till it became necessary. After lunch the three of them rested for a couple of hours while the molten sun passed its zenith. The house seemed hot, but to walk from it into the open air was comparable with passing from frigid conditions into the blast from a furnace. Lisa and Imogen lay on their respective beds, but Nell read for a while in the living-room and then took the coolest bath she could manage. When the place was quiet like this she could imagine how it was when Hugh Selwyn lived here. Not unbearable by any means, even though the heat could be pretty fierce, and there was so much that was interesting in his job. As Lisa

had remarked a day or two ago, you couldn't blame either of the men for not marrying; life in these conditions must be emotionally simple. At four o'clock she made tea and took a cup each to the others. Then she prepared Lisa's bath and washed out some underwear. She had just finished when knuckles drummed at the front door, and she opened it to find Harry Millard there, holding a long, deep, cardboard box. "Ladies' wear department," he said. "May I come in?" "Yes, of course." She led the way into the living-room. "What have you brought?" With a smile and a half-wink, he dropped the box on to the table and lifted off the lid. "One green linen trimmed with white. All right?" She received it across her arms. "Perfect. I didn't know there were such things in the district." "Next—one pink and white stripe; it'll suit your tan. And a blue and white floral thing. They did have one or two flimsies, but I honestly didn't think you'd be so adorably young!" "Who are 'they'?" "There's a trading post near my place "and they supply a big district. I'm friendly with the two chaps who run it and they picked the best stuff they had. As a matter of fact, two of these dresses were ordered by a teacher up-country, but I said they could take her something else. I'll leave the unmentionables in the box." Nell laughed, and spread the three dresses over a chair. "You're very kind, and I'm awfully sorry I can't offer you the money for them right away."

"Don't bother about it," he said. "Dean told me to charge everything to the rubber company." "I can't have that. Even if I had no scruples myself, my father would be furious. Still, we'll have to go into that later. Would you like some tea?" "I've had it." He leaned back on the table and looked at her, his eyes half-closed, and smiling. "I've got a surprise for you. Brother Dean invites all three of you over for dinner." "I'll bet you prodded him." "You'd lose. I'd decided to invite myself over here!" Her head went back in a movement of laughter. She felt light and happy and thoroughly at ease. "I'll ask the others, but I'm sure we'd all love to come." She didn't have to call along the corridor, for Lisa came in just then, in fresh lilac cotton, the chestnut hair combed back sleekly from her temples and flawlessly coiled. As she calmly acknowledged the introduction she looked like a charming business woman on vacation. "So you're Dean's brother," she said, with an appraising smile. "I can't see much resemblance." "We had different mothers. Mine was pretty and flighty— an absolute darling, but unreliable. If you know me long enough you'll find that I'm a darling, too." "And unreliable?" "Not exactly, though I'll admit to being bored sometimes with the virtues. You know," he said confidentially, "I can't quite believe in

you women. Three of you—unmarried. Would one of you care to marry me?" "Well," Lisa paused, lightly, "Imogen is needing a husband." It seemed rather odd to Nell that Imogen should enter the room just then, particularly as she had come straight from her bath in a filmy gown. Perhaps she had heard the mention of her name. "I was looking for . . ." she began elaborately. Then she gave a smile of pretty confusion. "Oh, you have a visitor." "Yes," said Lisa, her expression knowledgeable. "This is Harry Millard." "How . . . how nice." Imogen backed into the doorway, pulling together the revers of her wrap. In the frame of black cloudy hair her face appeared small and sweetly perturbed. "I'll get dressed and come back." "No, don't rush." Harry was staring at her, fascinated and alert. "I'll be seeing you at dinner to-night. I'll come over for you all at seven. Suit you?" It was agreed, and he gradually talked himself down the corridor and out of the front door. Nell went back to the living-room to find Imogen, still half-clad, leaning back in an armchair with her hands behind her head. "But why did you have to tell him I'm needing a husband?" she was demanding. "You were listening," replied Lisa, "so you must have known how the conversation went. It was only a joke and we gave him no reasons."

"That was why I burst in—because I was afraid you would. Look here," for a moment she hesitated, calculatingly. "Do me a favour, will you—both you and Nell? I don't want anyone to know about that letter from my uncle. I haven't decided what I'm going to do about it, and until I do decide, I'd prefer to keep it dark. After all," with an oblique glance at the finger-nails over which she took so much care, "if I haven't a fiancé the other is a bit of a handicap, isn't it? No man who has money of his own would care for a woman to hitch up with him for the sake of her uncle's worldly possessions. Even out here, where men marry simply because they need a woman, they pretend to believe in love, or the whole thing becomes a farce." "For a girl of twenty-four," remarked Lisa, "you're uncommonly objective." "I'd call it cold-blooded," said Nell. "Of course you would," Imogen nodded, "but your slant on such things is purely romantic. Let me give you a piece of advice, sweetie. Don't lose your girlish heart to Harry Millard. He's selfish to the core." "How can you possibly know that?" "It's stamped all over him, and I recognise him for what he is because I've seen his sort before. Perhaps I even have a little in common with the type."

When several people meet together in a jungle outpost there is an exhilaration in the atmosphere which is not to be found in more civilised spots. Possibly it is caused by the juxtaposition of the modern present with the primitive past. Inside, a house will be comfortably furnished; the cabinet will be full of good drink, crystal

boxes will contain fresh cigarettes, and there will be a few wellknown glossy magazines lying around, though the newest among them may be six weeks old. But not far from the house lies the virgin forest of the tropics, and beyond again are the swamps and crooked ravines, the dark infested rivers. And through and among everything twines a tangled mass of vegetation, reaching out to blanket the already green world. Nell reflected upon this after they had had dinner that night. The gramophone was playing softly with Hugh in attendance, Lisa and Dean were lazily conversing on the rattan chesterfield, and Harry sat between Nell and Imogen but rather closer to Imogen. For a while, Nell had no need or inclination to speak much. The music ended and the purring of the fan in the ceiling became audible. Dean offered cigarettes. To Harry he said, "I've just told Lisa that the freighter won't be up till Tuesday week. If there's room to be left for passengers you hadn't better load too much." "My shed is pretty full. You remember I missed the freighter last time?" "Yes, I remember." An almost imperceptible pause. "I've got plenty ready for shipment myself. I'm hoping they'll bring up a barge." "And if they don't?" "Well, the ladies are anxious to go." "Are they?" Harry looked as if he didn't believe it. "You girls are happy here, aren't you?"

It was Lisa who answered. "We're in possession of Mr. Selwyn's quarters and eating up the men's supplies. It isn't as if we can help them in any way." "Good lord, of course you can. A man has to have women about him before he realises how much he needs them. Doesn't he, Dean?" "I wouldn't say that.'" Dean was laconic. "Need isn't the word I'd use in that connection." Harry turned to Hugh. "You could give Lisa something to do, couldn't you? Nell, too, probably. Somehow, I don't think Imogen wants to be used that way ... do you?" Her red mouth was thin and curved as she blew out smoke, but her glance clung with his. "Not as a welfare worker, thanks. But I don't mind it here. At one time I used to think I'd rather like to be a planter's wife." "And don't you, any more?" Her eyes opened wide, innocently. "I suppose I still do; it's a long time since I gave it any thought. Tell me about your plantation. Do you manage it alone?" Hugh set another record going, and in a minute or so Harry and Imogen got up and drifted outside. Hugh came beside Nell. "It's pleasant having you all here to-night," he said. "Why are you so starry-eyed?" "Am I? I expect it's because it's so long since I've been with many white people. I'd love to have a week in Singapore." "And I'd like to take you—strictly as a big brother, of course. Doesn't your father realise you must need a holiday?"

She smiled reminiscently. "That sort of thing never occurs to him and I wouldn't dare mention it for fear he'd take it I was homesick. One day I'll persuade him that he needs the break. He has six months' holiday due to him, but he won't take it." "So that's where you get your stubbornness. Do you dance?" "I used to, a little, during my last year at school." "Dean has some dance records somewhere. I expect they're all glued together with mildew, but we may be able to rescue a few. I'll have them ready for next weekend." He spoke of other things for a few minutes, then asked, "How long have you known Lisa Kenfield?" The question was unexpected, and Nell took a moment or two to adjust her thoughts. "Almost since I first came to Malaya," she said then. "We haven't seen one another very of ten, but she and her brother came down to a meal with us a few times, and I spent a weekend now and then at the mission. Lisa used to work very hard." "Does she ever talk about herself?" "No, Lisa's not like that, but she's not the cold person you might think she is. She's very wise and understanding." He nodded. "For other people. She gives the impression of having very little feeling." Just then Lisa smiled carelessly at something Dean had said, and Hugh tacked on quietly, "There's something they both have which we others haven't" And he went back to the record player. Harry and Imogen came in, and Harry pulled Nell to her feet and whirled her across the room. Close to her ear, he said, "You're a darling little rabbit, Nell. I love to stroke you." And for all to see he smoothed the short curls.

Nell looked quickly at Dean. His glance was tolerant, his mouth twisted with what might have been distaste, and she knew he meant her to feel young and foolish. For a moment of horror she thought, Harry is his brother, his brother. But almost at once she reminded herself that these men meant nothing at all to her, that they never could mean anything. She belonged with Game-warden Patmore up at Kahpeng. So she returned Dean's glance with a slightly defiant one of her own. They played cards, had a sandwich and a nightcap and all six of them went out to the clearing for a stroll. And naturally, they fetched up at the women's quarters. Good nights were said, promises were extracted by Harry for to-morrow, and the two groups parted. Imogen yawned and went straight to her bedroom. Lisa paused in her bedroom doorway. "I think I'll turn in, too. Aren't you tired, Nell?" "Not very. Did you enjoy it?" "Yes, more than I anticipated, but I still think we should get away as soon as we can. You, too, Nell." She hesitated. "These aren't your kind of men. Hugh Selwyn might be, if he were younger, but the two Millards . . ." she broke off, smiling. "You know what I mean?" "Yes, I know. Why did you say Hugh might be my kind of man?" Lisa was still smiling, but cynically. "I'd say his type when young is adoring . . . inarticulate but desperate when in love. Hugh has grown out of that, and if he marries it won't be for desperate reasons but for sentimental ones." "That's rather a cruel thing to say."

"Not really. He's lucky to reach that stage before marriage —if he ever does marry. A woman never reaches it, you know. We're incurably hopeful about romance, even when we've lost our youth. That doesn't include me, of course. I'm the exception that proves the rule." "Yours is a lonely philosophy, Lisa." "I suppose it is." A shrug. "I don't recommend it for your use, my dear. You've got to be loved." A dim light shone in Nell's grass hut, but the watch-boy was not yet stretched upon his sleeping mat. Nell looked about her, watched a firefly dart crazily upwards and collide with another, took a deep breath and went into the makeshift bedroom. Inside she abruptly stopped moving. Her heart gave a violent lurch and the tune died in her throat. She stared at Dean, saw him get up lazily from the foot of her bed, where he had been resting, and for a wild instant was poised for flight; she couldn't have said why. "For Pete's sake," he said impatiently. "I'm not a monster." "Your being here was so . . . unexpected." "Your nerves can't be as sound as you always pretend they are." She had recovered quickly. "I haven't any nerves," she retorted. "What was that, then?" with satire. "Your defence mechanism coming into action? Sit down. I want to talk to you." Because the room was small and he made it seem much smaller, and also because she felt it would give her time, Nell obeyed. It was a comfortable rattan chair with a couple of cushions, and she settled herself into them with the air of one taking a grip on herself and her

surroundings. Dean remained standing, his hands dug characteristically into his trousers pockets. Now he was without his jacket, but he still looked unusual because the silk shirt had wristlength sleeves. She saw the glitter of gold cuff-links as he turned. Impersonally, he surveyed her. "Do you like the dresses?" he asked. "Yes, they're marvellous—much better than anything I could have made myself. I haven't spoken to you alone to night or I'd have thanked you for asking Harry to bring them along." His glance sharpened slightly. "I expect you thanked Harry, and that's plenty. He chose as well for you as if he'd known you beforehand. He has a flair for pleasing women." He lifted his shoulders as if the subject were not worth pursuing. "I didn't tell you earlier because I thought it might detract from your pleasure this evening, but I think you ought to know that I've been unable to get a word to your father. Can't you remember exactly where he was bound for?" She looked troubled. "He did point it out on his own local map. It was immediately south of the Trengganu river. The actual patch of forest was hidden by a marker he'd stuck over it, but I remember it was between two kampongs. You . . . you don't think the bandits could have got that far?" "Bad news travels fast, anyway," commented Dean. "I wouldn't have told you if it hadn't been necessary to get more specific information regarding his whereabouts. You mustn't worry about him. Jim Patmore has slipped out of a good many tight corners. You may not believe it, but I've always admired that father. of yours." "You ruined his gun." Dean drew in his lip speculatively. "Didn't he ever tell you the details of that incident? The thief he was chasing happened to be a Malay,

and the boy ran in among my trees, your father following with a raised rifle. I had a gang working there, and I happen to consider it bad for Malays to see a white man gunning for one of them. I've told them many times that I'd use a weapon of that kind only in their defence, and I'm afraid that when I saw your father on the hunt I saw red." "You could merely have stopped him!" "I was watched by about two hundred Malays. They understand actions better than words. I did offer afterwards to replace the rifle, but your father wouldn't have it." "Of course he wouldn't." Her head went up. "You have a set of laws all to yourself, haven't you? I suppose you're entitled to dictate on your own ground. But you're not entitled to keep me here against my will." "I hope that doesn't mean," he answered, heavily sarcastic, "that you've been searching around for someone who doesn't come under my jurisdiction to help you. Has Harry been getting at you?" "No, he hasn't. But it's an idea!" "You may as well forget it. Harry won't help you to get back to Kahpeng because he likes to know that you're right here. At the moment he's not quite sure which one he's taken a fancy to—you or Imogen." "That's a beastly way to talk about your own brother!" she said, standing up and breathing rather fast. Dean's face tightened. "Don't try to teach me how to behave. I'm telling you this for your own good. Harry is making a passable job of superintending his plantation and I certainly don't want him to fall

down on it at this stage. But if he gets too interested in a woman, he will. Before you let your imagination paint pretty pictures in which you're a planter's wife down the river, there's something you'd better know. Harry was making his way in the legal profession in London before he came to Malaya, but he got himself involved in a divorce case and had to give up everything. The scandal was terrific and he hadn't the mental equipment to live it down. That's why he's here." She was shocked a little, but not surprised. She saw Dean's profile in the small lamplight; carved teak, the nose, hooked, the jaw inflexible. She could imagine the burning disgust and anger in him when he had heard of his brother's misdeed, anger which had turned cold and ruthless by the time Harry had arrived to make a new start. "Don't speak about it to anyone," he said brusquely, "but for the safety of your own unfledged emotions, don't forget it. You'll fall in love as all young things do, and no doubt you'll do it unwisely, but don't, it you can help it, choose anyone in Malaya." She hadn't listened to this very closely because, unaccountably, that profile and the arrogant slant of his head as he turned to look down at her had drawn her fast-beating heart up into her throat. It was as though she saw something new and blinding for the first time; something inexplicable. Huskily she said, "Well, thanks for the warning. I'll try not to fall in love with Harry." His mouth took on a hard smile. "You'd better be more determined about it than you sound. I promise you I'll find your father as soon as I can." She knew what he meant. He wanted to send her back to Kahpeng. "Thank you," she said politely.

He moved to the doorway. "This hut isn't too bad and it's safe enough, but I still don't like your sleeping here. It's not the sort of room for a girl." Nell was suddenly as tired as if she had passed through a grim ordeal. "I'm happy here," she said, "and I keep my clothes in the house. Good night." There was a silence. Then he said offhandedly, "Good night, little one." He bent low to get through the doorway. She heard him speak to the watchboy, caught the boy's amiable reply, "Yes, tuan. Always, tuan." Then she let down the covering and prepared for bed....

CHAPTER IV THE Malays on the Gwantan Rubber Estates never quite knew what to do with Sunday. They were accustomed to working for six days and taking a holiday on the seventh, but their religious feasts and ceremonial dances had no connection with the Christian calendar and anyway the intervals between holidays was too brief. One could not work up the necessary fervour in a mere six days. So most Sundays they loafed along the river fishing desultorily, making love with rather more energy and eating whenever a meal might be ready. Though they had nothing arranged for that particular Sunday it seemed to be tacitly agreed between them that they should put on a show for the six white people. The boys dressed in clean shorts and loose white jackets and for the most part were unspectacular, but their women shone like jewels. Those who possessed them wore rich sarongs glinting with gold thread, and the baju—a tight-fitting jacket mostly fashioned from pastel-tinted voile or chiffon. They painted their lips with a vegetable dye, elongated the eyelids with a charred stick and dressed their black hair with oil and a multiplicity of bright ornaments. Just before lunch-time they paraded up into the Tuan Besar's clearing and circled his house. Dean spoke to them through a window and it was arranged that they should come back at sunset and dance. So the three white women spent that evening, too, at Dean's house. From a row of chairs outside they watched the posturing and jerky stamping to the music of Malayan guitars. As night fell and a sickle moon shone among the stars the dancing grew wilder, working towards a crescendo; and then it was over and the people became languid and laughing once more as they trooped away to their bowls of rice and strips of boiled pork.

Inside the house it was a comradely evenings and the strain of yesterday seemed to have faded from the atmosphere. Conversation was general and stimulating, and if Harry paid more attention to the women than to the other two men it appeared to be considered natural. Dean even bantered him about it. At ten, Harry had to leave. He said good-bye with many regrets, told Nell and Imogen not to pine too much while he was absent, and promised to be along early next Saturday. "By car," he stated, as he got into the canoe. "It seems like ten years since I last took a woman for a drive." When he was no longer visible his voice floated back along the dark tunnel of the river; he was singing a gondola love- song in" a passable imitation of an Italian tenor. Next day, over a mid-morning cup of tea in the living- room, it was Imogen who reminded the other two of various incidents during the pleasant Sunday evening. "Dean smiles," she observed thoughtfully, "but he doesn't unbend. Harry, on the other hand, remains undaunted. I wouldn't mind betting that that young man has hit a few fences in his time. Believe it or not, he was on his way to becoming a barrister before he came to Malaya." "He's likeable, when you know him," allowed Lisa. "The dissipated sort are always full of themselves, but they're generally amusing. By the way, I didn't hear him repeat the offer to marry one of us."' Nell laughed. "Would you take him in hand?" "I'm a year or two older than he is." "He needs someone wise."

"Oh, no." Imogen sounded emphatic. "Dean is plenty wise enough for the two of them. Harry needs someone bright and uncomplicated. He has to have a woman who'll forgive his past peccadilloes and make future ones unnecessary." "In short," put in Lisa, one eyebrow raised, "he needs Imogen Cornell." "How did you guess?" said Imogen equably. She nodded. "Yes, I believe I shall marry him." "But how on earth . . began Nell, startled. "Quiet, darling. He doesn't know yet." Imogen looked at Lisa. "Don't you see? He's ideal! Once I can make up his mind he'll marry me at once, and he's not the kind to turn snooty if he discovered I'd married him to get money out of my uncle. He'd probably laugh his head off and help me to spend it." "But you're not in love with him!" cried Nell. "Don't let's go through all that again. I daresay his ideas on love tally with mine, and no woman can ask more." "But you couldn't stand living at the plantation with him!" "I might, for a month or two—or even longer if my uncle insisted on it. But I don't see why he should stick to the plantation; he could practise law in Singapore." Nell tried not to sound too concerned. "It wouldn't be fair to encourage him to walk out on Dean. Do you think so, Lisa?" "It could be done gracefully, I daresay." She finished her tea and pushed away the cup. "Even so, Imogen, you won't have time to do much before Tuesday week."

Imogen dabbed at her lips with a wispy handkerchief. "Well, we're not sure the freighter will be able to take us, but if it can, I shall have to go down with a fever or something. This means too much to me; I can't risk defeat. And please stay, Lisa." Lisa looked away from them. "No, I'm not staying," she said. "I came with you because you were anxious to get to Singapore and that was my ultimate destination, too. But if you've changed your mind I'd rather go back with Nell to Kahpeng. Her father would eventually get me through to Singapore." Nell studied this in silence. A few days ago it was just what she had wanted, to be alone at Kahpeng with Lisa. But now she felt a queer reluctance to think about returning home under any conditions. Her whole life, somehow, seemed to be in mid-air, as though she had begun something which had hurled it there, and now she must finish, to bring herself back to earth. Which was silly, really. The bungalow was still there, with Ting in charge, her books in her bedroom, the sewing machine in the little workroom where the wives came for sewing lessons. She had been happy there, and would be again. Yes, she repeated fiercely to herself, would be again. "Well, you must admit this is important to me," Imogen was saying, "and if it comes off I hope we'll be friends, even if we do happen to be some miles apart." "Supposing you marry," submitted Nell, "and then discover it was a mistake?" "There are ways out," Imogen told, her patiently. "My most pressing need is a marriage certificate for Nunky. I really can't look beyond that yet."

There was a quick movement in the corridor and all three turned their faces towards the half-open door. A rap, and Hugh poked his head round it. "May I bother you, Lisa? We've had a small catastrophe." Nell jumped up. "I'll come as well." "No, only one, or they'll get panicky. Thanks all the same, Nell." "First aid?" asked Lisa, as she joined him. "Shall I bring my kit?" "We have everything but the nurse. Two boys have been hurt. I can deal with one if you'll manage the other." Swiftly, they went together into the workroom. All the sections were idle, and boys had crowded up in one corner, offering condolences and advice. Hugh broke them up. "Back to work," he said: "Meng, you're in charge. Keep order." As the group melted, the two boys they had been bending over became visible. Both lay on the floor, one nursing a hand that dripped with blood, the other rocking his sprained elbow; both groaned. Rather sternly, Hugh bade them get to their feet and accompany himself and the mem to the small office. Automatically, Lisa took charge of the one who had sliced off the tip of his finger. She was deft and gentle, and her Malay was better than Hugh's. The boy explained how his friend had caught his elbow in the machine and how he himself had got frightened and pulled the wrong lever. Now, he would be no good, he said; he would not be able to tap rubber. "You'll be all right," she reassured him. "It will heal and become hard. What is your work here?"

"I make things of leather, mem." "You'll still be able to make things of leather. The tip of one finger is nothing. You'll still have nine of them." This drew a pale grin. In English, Hugh said quietly, "When you've done there, come and talk to this one. I'm too mad with them for leaving the guard off the machine." The two boys were sent out at last, feeling very sorry for themselves but proud of the dressings. Lisa washed her hands in the bowl of clean water which one of the girl pupils had brought to replace the dirty. There was only one towel, and as she finished drying, Hugh took the other end and used it. A little offhandedly he said, "I hope you didn't mind my calling you in, but I daren't let one wait while I attended to the other, and I thought it might be too much for Nell." She looked at him quickly, her glance narrowed. "You'd hardly call in Nell, with an experienced nurse on hand. I'm glad to have been of help. Is that all?" He didn't answer for a moment, but folded the towel and placed it beside the bowl at the end of the desk. Then: "I generally take ten minutes off for a cup of tea at this time. Care to go over to the house with me?" On the point of saying, "I've had some, thanks," Lisa changed her mind. Instead she said, "Dean will think I'm living over there." "He won't be in till two." They didn't speak on the way over to the house, and when they entered the big living-room it was to find a tray already set there, with two cups.

"That's usual," he said hastily. "The boy has got into the habit, since I've been staying here." He set a chair for her near the table and himself took a seat opposite. Her hands, as she poured, were strong and pale, the nails short and rounded like a housewife's. As she dealt with ants that were busy in the brown sugar her face was calm and inexpressive. A plague of ants could be infuriating, Hugh well knew, but one felt that this woman would take such an eventuality in her stride. "You're unshakeable, aren't you?" he said, accepting his cup and leaning back in his chair. "It seems to me that a woman—a man, too—ought to get ruffled sometimes." "It's an attitude one cultivates. It becomes part of you in time, of course." With deliberation he said, "I knew it couldn't be natural, and I don't believe it really does become part of you. Some things still stir you, surely?" "It isn't that one isn't stirred," she said, taking a cigarette from the box he offered. "It's the futility of letting one's emotions get out of hand." "You shouldn't. Fundamentally, human nature is no different here from what it is elsewhere. Heat and disease, terrorists—every country has its equivalents." He separated a wad of tobacco from the supply in his pouch and began pressing it into the bowl of his pipe. "For the second time, Lisa - what made you come to Malaya? You've admitted you weren't a trained nurse when you came and that you had no missionary tendencies." She tried her tea, and said coolly, "My brother had the tendencies, and I came with him."

"But there must have been a deeper reason," he persisted quietly. "Did you . . . lose someone?" "No." Rather sharply she tapped ash into the blue china bowl he had pushed towards her. "There was no abortive love affair, nothing at all that made me feel I must get away from the scene of the crime." Hugh laid the filled pipe on the table and picked up his teacup. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have probed." The silence was awkward. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had got up, thanked him for the tea and walked out. But she went on smoking and looking sideways, through the window, her mouth a little compressed, but not unpleasantly. At last she said, "There's no mystery about it, but I've got out of the habit of thinking back. No one has ever been interested before. Would you like to hear the details?" He knew better than to appear eager. "Yes, I would, but take your time." It was typical of Lisa that she should plunge into it straightway, but tell it economically and without a quiver. "My brother and I were the only two left in our family and we were very fond of each other. He was several years older than I, and ten years ago he was a young and struggling doctor in London. He fell in love with a nurse." She paused. "If anyone ever tries to tell you that doctors and nurses don't really fall in love, don't believe it. You'd think such a relationship would be affectionate but sensible, but it wasn't that way between Richard and Eileen. They adored each other." Hugh said, "I daresay doctors and nurses have to go through the hot years of youth like the rest of us."

She cast him one of her quick glances, looked almost as if she were going to put a pertinent question, but then shook her head, and went on: "Well, nine years ago they were married, and only five months later she died." Hugh murmured something under his breath, and involuntarily his hand moved on the table towards hers, though it had scarcely gone an inch before he halted it. "I was on the designing staff of a north-country textile firm," she said, "but I gave up my job at once and went down to him. He was in frightful shape, unable to work, hardly able even to speak. He wasn't really safe alone, and I was so shaken myself that I couldn't leave him. Then, after a few weeks, he asked me to promise that we'd stay together for good." "And you did?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Yes: I'd have promised him anything. Those months were horrible; neither of us working, the money dwindling, and no future for either of us; it was like the end of time. At last a friend of my brother's showed us an advertisement in a medical journal—civilian doctors were needed in the Far East. I seized on it and tried to make Richard enthusiastic. I didn't succeed, but he did capitulate. Well," baldly, "Kota Baran was the outcome." "Did your brother recover completely?" "He became a good doctor, but he was nervy and fanatical. We were fairly happy." "He was damned selfish to keep you there." "Everyone's selfish to some extent." She sounded flat. "He never talked about Eileen and gradually he became cynical about love and

marriage; he said I was lucky to have been spared them. I'm inclined to think he was right." "He was wrong," said Hugh without emphasis. "He could have worked off his grief and come out on the other side. Instead, he ruined his own life and had a shot at ruining yours, too." Her tone was curious. "You think it's possible to work off grief?" "I know it is," he said quietly, "from my own experience." Except for the insensate banging of some insect against the wall, it was noiseless in the room. Lisa had turned back to the, view through the window and her profile looked aloof and hard. Hugh shifted and slipped the filled pipe into his pocket, and in a second or two he stood up. She did not hurry across the clearing; there was nothing to rush away from. True, she was annoyed with herself for the second time within the week she had been at Gwantan and the same man was the cause, but one lived through such minor upheavals. Too bad she hadn't felt like prolonging the exchange of confidences; presumably, Hugh Selwyn might have described the woman he had chosen during "the hot years of youth", and the way in which he had lost her. But Lisa felt she had had enough of the fringes of emotion, particularly the fringes of Hugh Selwyn's.

By Wednesday time was again beginning to drag for the women. Nell had spent Tuesday evening with Hugh in the pottery section of the workroom, but on Wednesday morning she felt dull and dispirited, quite unlike her normal self. And events conspired to intensify her depression. Over breakfast with Lisa she had learned that during her absence last night Dean had come in for a chat and a

game of cards. Lisa's eyes were bright, her face unusually animated as she recounted some of the conversation the three of them had had. "You like Dean quite a lot, don't you?" Nell had felt constrained to ask. "Yes, I do. I like that steely quality in a man and I enjoy a battle of wits. You know something, Nell? I believe Imogen had got under his skin. There was nothing tangible, but I felt it and so did she. Funny, isn't it, after she'd made up her mind to go all out for Harry." Nell had gone a little cold. "Well, I don't suppose she'd find it difficult to change her plans. Everything goes as she wants it." "Yes, but Dean's canny, and he wouldn't propose in haste, whereas Harry is quite likely to. She's in "a quandary." "And probably enjoying it," said Nell with an effort. "Can I have your undies for washing?" "Thanks, Nell. Imogen left hers in my room too." Nell paused on her way to the door. "Left them?" "Before she went out." A light laugh. "Yes, she's actually gone out— at eight o'clock. Didn't you hear the car?" Nell had heard it and willed herself not to look out into the clearing. It was only Dean on his way to the plantation, she had told herself firmly. Only Dean, who assumed he had the right to run the life of anyone who happened to be staying at Gwantan. Steadily she asked, "Where did they go?" "Dean told us last night that he had to make an inspection across the river. He invited Imogen along and then, as an obvious afterthought,

included me. So I backed out. If I know Imogen, she'll have a feminine accident or two in the course of the day. At this rate, she'll get a kiss from Dean before Harry so much as shows up again!" Nothing touched Lisa, thought Nell, as she went to the kitchen for warm water. She was a little bored by this sojourn in Gwantan but she had fun out of it as well. Nell tried to tell herself that she would have minded less if Dean had shown a preference for Lisa, because ever since she had first met the two Kenfields she had wanted happiness of an orthodox kind for Lisa. But Imogen ... She did rest for a while after lunch, but later, when the sun was westering, she went out and took the nearest path through the forest. And there, of course, it was blessedly cool. To discourage jungle beasts the growth between trees was kept low and the vines cleared from the trunks. Here and there were litters of old tree-stumps, and occasionally a tall ficus tree shot up high, even above the palms, the stems which entwined to form the trunk looking grotesquely human. Wild doves flapped their wings high in the branches, but the parakeets dipped low in a vain display of coloured feathers. Nell stood still and became aware of the crushing silence and the eternal dimness. Should she go onward and take her first close look at the growing rubber? She walked on along the edge of the trees, looking across at the forest as she moved. Involuntarily her glance lifted, searching for signs of the smoke which was now so pungent. Then faintly she heard it—the crisp crackle of flames. And in the same instant she knew, from the sour pungency of the smell, that it was rubber that burned. For a horrified instant Nell did nothing at all. Fire-watchers, extinguishers, twig brooms for beating the flames ... the words sped through her mind like tape through a machine. She began to run among the trees and soon, between the bare trunks, she saw the great

billows of smoke, and flames consuming the glossy crowns high in the sky. She ran into the choking fog,- saw tiny molten rivers trickling down blackened trunks and one trunk which was a column of flame. The heat seared her skin and burned her streaming eyes, the smoke caught in her throat, filled and parched it till she was coughing excruciatingly. She turned away and broke into a stumbling lope, then, when cooler air reached her lungs, she gulped breaths of it, swallowed salt tears and put on speed. Across the road and unthinkingly into the forest because it was the quickest way back to the clearing. Only when she was encompassed by dimness did it come to her that from this angle she would never find the path she had followed; the hacked growth stung her legs, decayed foliage gave way beneath her feet and there seemed to be nothing but a jungle of hairy trunks in front of her. Yet she was moving fast. Unconsciously, one fist was pressed hard to her aching chest while the other hand either raked back the sweat-soaked hair from her temples or dragged her skirt from the tentacle grasp of evil weeds. In her mind was a maze of smoke and flames ravenously devouring the precious rubber trees. Gasping, her lungs raw, she leapt fallen logs and mounds of rotted coconut husk, and then she came suddenly to a pool overhung by a pale greenness of leaves, a patch of light in the gloom. There, at the edge of the pool, a couple of young girls were securing their sarongs after a bathe. They stared at her, threw quick words to each other about her grime and dishevelment. "Api," she croaked. "Go tell the Tuan Besar. Api . . . fire ... in the rubber. Block H." For a further moment they stood petrified, and then they were away like the deer one occasionally surprised in the forest. Nell staggered forward to the edge of the pool and sank down upon a rotting block of wood. Her face bent into her hands, and with the pad of her

forefinger she felt a soreness high on her cheekbone, where a branch had caught it. But compared with the tremendous throbbing throughout her body the pain was small. Sweat had soaked her dress back and front to the waist. The short streaky hair was wet to its ends and her head felt as if it must burst. Presently she raised her head and saw that the skirt of the new green linen dress was rags. She couldn't rouse herself to care. Nell never knew how long she sat there, but there came a deepening of the hush and the gloom and a lessening of her own pulsing heat which released a little energy. She stood up, shivered, and walked stiffly to the path along which the girls had disappeared. And in the early cloistral darkness she met Dean. She had heard a peremptory shout and stood still. It came again, but before she could attempt a weak answer, there he was striding towards her and flashing a torch. He stopped precipitately, illumined her face. "Good God," he said, and slipped an arm about her. "I didn't think for a moment you'd be like this. Are you hurt?" "Not fatally," she managed, with a wan attempt at flippancy. "Are they . . . fighting the fire?" "Yes." Then, sharply, "Why is your voice so hoarse? You didn't go into the plantation, did you?" Without volition she was leaning against him, the silk of his shirt against the bruised cheek. Her reply was a husky whisper. "I was walking along the edge of the plantation when I smelled the smoke. I ... I traced it, and ran for the clearing. Two girls were at the pool. . ." "One of them should have stayed with you," he said harshly. "There was no one at my house, so they went to Lisa and she called Selwyn.

After thinking it over for a minute he came after me. When we got back and discovered you hadn't turned up, I came out, scouting for you." "Where were you when Hugh caught up with you?" she queried hollowly. A brief pause. "I was at the fire," he said. She straightened within his grasp. "So you knew, all the time?" Gently, he said, "We have fire-watchers, you know. Can't take risks at this season." It was too much. The futility of her actions was an anguish. Her heart seemed to clog her throat, pain stabbed at the backs of her eyes and her whole body ached and smarted. For a few seconds she was able to hold herself rigid, and to pretend that she was ready to walk on. But Dean couldn't quite have believed that. The arm about her tightened just slightly . . . and Nell crumpled. With her fists brought up hard against his chest, her eyes pressed against them, she wept, unrestrainedly. His hand closed over her shoulder, his fingers dug cruelly. "Stop it," he said in rough clipped tones, close to her ear. "Do you hear me— stop it!" But the flow took its time over easing off, and by then she could feel in him the tenseness which is any man's when he is called upon to witness at close quarters the ungoverned tears of a woman. Except that in Dean it had a quality of violent distaste. He released her abruptly and gave her a handkerchief. "If that's a sample of tough young womanhood," he said between his teeth, "give me the kind that wilts. It's less harrowing."

While they were still among the trees neither of them spoke again On the path the going was easy, but he kept that hard impersonal arm across her back and helped her whenever he could. The lamps around the clearing had been lit, and there was one to illumine the path entrance. There, for the first time, he saw her fully. His jaw went taut. "You're in a hell of a mess." He sounded exasperated and furious. "I know you did it to warn me, but don't you think I'd sooner lose another hundred of the damned trees than have you torn about like this! What did you think you were doing? Turning the other cheek, for your father! And how am I supposed to feel?" She was exhausted and tremulous. "I don't care how you feel." He gripped her arm. "You'd better come into my place and clean up." "I can do it better in my own room, thanks." "I want to look at those scratches and bruises. They need treatment." "Lisa will do it." "I don't trust you to go to Lisa. You're coming with me." "I will not!" With a sudden wrench she was free and had swung round, but Dean's hold, momentarily loosened, fastened above her elbow like a vice. Very quietly, he said: "Don't defy me, Helen. You've made me feel badly enough, and I won't put up with more. Are you coming, or shall I carry you?" Dully, she gave in. She entered his living-room, swallowed some of the drink he gave her and stood miserably near the window while he

had the boy fill the bath. In the bathroom she stepped into the water, to which he had added antiseptic, and ten minutes later she dried herself and got into the large dressing gown he had given her. As she opened the door he was there, holding out a dress he had managed to whisk unobserved from her room. In a bedroom she put on the dress and combed up her lank hair. He came in, carrying a bottle of acriflavin and a large wad of cotton wool. Her leg wounds were drenched, salve was applied to the bruise on her cheekbone, and she stood up. During the whole time she hadn't spoken once. Dean had commented crisply and offered advice, but she had not even looked a reply. "There's something to be said," he commented now, acidly, "for a woman like Imogen. She'd never behave crazily, as you do, and she's wise enough to submit, when occasion demands, to masculine domination. You could learn a few things from her, little one." "If I do, I'll test them somewhere else," she answered coolly, and preceded him to the living-room. Hugh Selwyn had come in and was pouring himself a drink. He didn't appear surprised to see her, but then, Nell thought despairingly, men were never surprised at anything except at being thwarted in their own plans. "How's it going down there?" Dean asked him. "It's under control. You've lost about sixty trees." "That's better than six hundred. Thanks for taking my place, Hugh." "That's all right. Glad you found Nell; she seems to have picked up a few discolourations."

As he opened the main door, Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "Children are always hurting themselves," he said, "but some are more whole-hog than others. Come along, Helen. I'll see you home." Hugh gave her a commiserating smile. "There seems to be an edge to the atmosphere in Gwantan, but don't worry. Dean hasn't had a fire for three years, and it's annoyed him." She gave him a nod and a pale smile and went out. At Dean's side she walked across to the other building, and in the porch he pushed wide the door for her. "The fire itself doesn't matter," he said grimly, "but the dangers you run into matter a great deal. You worry me, Helen. I've reminded you before that I'm responsible for you, but this time I'm telling you that I won't have you roaming among the trees. Go in and have some supper and get to bed." In the half-darkness she thought his eyes glinted a little. "You might tell Imogen I found her scarf in my car. I'll let her have it in the morning. Good night." Nell passed him and the door closed. Lisa came into the corridor. "Why, Nell! You've given us quite a fright." But neither she nor Imogen showed undue curiosity or concern. Indeed, Imogen stretched out in the rattan chair and yawned prettily. "Dean is definitely wearing," she remarked. "He interests and excites me, but a day in his company takes its toll. Tonight, I'll need a good sleep. By the way, Nell, did he say anything about my scarf?" Unemotionally, Nell answered, "You left it in his car." "Of course I did: there's nothing like a wisp of something touched with an elusive perfume to disturb a man. Was that all?"

"He'll give it to you in the morning. I rather think the smell of burning rubber trees was more disturbing than your scent. Bad luck." And Nell went through to the kitchen. Imogen lifted her shoulders at Lisa. "She's mad because she has that bruise and won't look pretty for Harry." "She's more tired than you are," replied Lisa quietly. "Leave her alone, my dear."

CHAPTER V THE next day passed quietly. Imogen spent two hours during the morning on a letter to her uncle. Coyly, she told him that she was so happy at being in Malaya and on the verge of marriage that it seemed a pity not to prolong the anticipation. Cleverly she skirted her main problem, and gently she assured him that she and her husband would send him a joint telegram on their wedding day. When the epistle was completed she read it out to Lisa and Nell. It sounded sweet and affectionate and not in the least money-grubbing. "I'll have to get Harry to mail it for me when he goes back after the weekend," Imogen said as she sealed the letter. "Even by airmail it will take all of a fortnight, and I'm hoping that by then things will have happened." "Things will always happen where you are," said Lisa, flicking over the pages of her book. "I still intend to leave on Tuesday if I can. I'm tired of inactivity." "There are big patches of boredom," Imogen conceded, "but the week-end promises to be lively. When Harry gets here to-morrow . . ." "Saturday morning." "No, to-morrow." Imogen gave a bland, expressionless smile. "I coaxed him particularly to come Friday evening, and somehow I think he will." "Ifs a risky business—playing one brother against the other," remarked Lisa. "I daresay no one could do it so well as you, but beware of Dean."

"Believe it or not, Dean and I understand one another. He laughed about it yesterday, but told me outright that he didn't want me to marry his brother. What do you know about that!" So far, Nell had not entered the conversation. She was turning out the lower cupboards of the cabinet, and now she sat back on her heels, and looked up. "We really hardly know these men. Why should he say that?" "I don't know, darling," said Imogen kindly. "I imagine he could be a dog-in-the-manger—not want a woman himself but not want anyone else to have her. On the other hand, he was exceedingly charming, and it's just possible that as the elder of the two he felt he should take the plunge before Harry. I've an idea that the week-end will solve one or two problems." Presently she and Lisa went out to sit in the shade and read. Nell carried on with the job she had found herself. She had got out Hugh's work-basket, a rattan affair with a lid which dropped over it, without fastening. Inside was a shambles. Tangles of darning wool and tape, cards of buttons, loose pins and needles, safety pins, a couple of bent bodkins, a useless pair of scissors and another pair which were nearly as bad. In places the rattan had splintered, and each rough spot caught at wools and cottons. The basket would have to be lined. She called the houseboy and asked him for a twenty-inch square of material. He brought her some gaudy print which she fitted into the basket and trimmed ready for stitching. It was at this stage that Hugh himself looked in. "Good heavens," he said, "that's dazzling." "It's pretty," she told him firmly, "and very necessary. How long have you had this basket?"

Very slightly, his expression altered. "Four years," he said, "though it seems much longer." "Why? Did you have someone to darn your socks before then?" She had put the question idly while she ran the needle in and out along the narrow hem, but when he didn't answer she stopped sewing and glanced at him. He looked the same, rather set, but just Hugh Selwyn apparently interested in a couple of white buttons he had picked out of the muddle on the table. Then she saw that they were pretty buttons, a woman's, and without thinking she said quickly: "Don't tell me." Casually, he dropped the buttons into a large littered ashtray. "Once a week I drive out to a kampong just the other side of the plantation. The people there specialise only in cutting and combing rattan, and to save them the long journey to a town to sell it, we pay them on the spot and the whole lot goes in one or two canoes. It's one of the jobs I took on when I first came, and I like it. Care to go with me after lunch?" "I'd love it, but wouldn't you rather take one of the others?" "No," he said evenly. "I'd rather take you. It'll be pretty hot." "I shan't mind. It'll be a relief to get away for a bit." "That's the way I feel. I'm due for a holiday soon." "Where will you go?" ''Where else but Singapore and Penang? I have friends around and shall probably stay with them." "Will you close the workroom?"

"I expect so, for three months." "Will Dean be here alone during that time?" He watched her bent, serious face. "Yes, but he's been here alone before and not minded. He's overdue for a holiday himself. Last night he said a surprising thing. He couldn't have been serious, but he said he was beginning to feel he wouldn't mind selling out to one of the big combines. They've been after him for some time." A chill feathered across Nell's skin. "Did he give . . . any reason?" "No. I took it as a joke and reminded him that Imogen would be gone in a week or two. He didn't answer that, but he put in a good many hours on the account books. I don't believe he went to bed before three." He smiled. "None of this means much to you, does it, but I feel it's a pity we're all going to part and go our own ways again. Even Dean seems to have changed a bit since you three women showed up." "I'm not sure that we've changed," she said. "Oh, yes, you have," he responded, crinkling his eyes at her. "You've gone reticent, Nell—grown up a little, I think." He patted her fingers. "Don't mind anything I say. I'm on your side, whatever happens." "But why?" she had to ask. "Because you're young and easily hurt, and all the rest of us are capable of inflicting hurt." "Not you," she said involuntarily. "Not I, perhaps." He looked big and comforting as he added, "I know you admire Lisa and would sooner take her advice than that of anyone else, but Lisa has a few hard spots, and I'd like to think that if

you found yourself reluctant to approach her, you'd come to me— while you're here." Purposely, she took this flippantly. "Thank you kindly. I'll bear it in mind." "Good. Be ready about two, will you?" So long." She put away the neatened workbox and set the table. Then she went off to change from the slacks into a dress, and when she came back Lisa was in the living-room, investigating a doubtful-looking salad. "Beans, beetroot, asparagus and carrots—all from tins," she commented acidly. "Why haven't these men a vegetable garden? At the mission we grew egg-plant and pumpkins and onions, and even a few carrots and potatoes. If I were here for long . . She broke off. Then: "I smelled tobacco as I came in. Has Hugh been here?" "Yes, but some time ago. He has to go to another village this afternoon and is taking me with him." Lisa looked her over, speculatively. "Well, you should be safe enough with him. It must be many years since Hugh Selwyn threatened a woman's peace - if he ever did." "It's not fair to talk against him," said Nell, "simply because you dislike him." "Good heavens, I don't dislike the man," Lisa replied negligently. "With me, he just doesn't ring a bell of any sort. At first, I did think he might be a little different from the rest—but he isn't. He's even had the one and only woman in his life." Hesitantly, Nell said, "So he told you about her."

The other woman straightened and her mouth seemed to become compressed. "No, as a matter of fact he didn't. I only know that she existed. Surely you haven't had to listen to a lot of outmoded sentimentality?" "Why will you always think the worst of Hugh?" Nell felt justified in retorting. "He hasn't told me a thing. It was really only a guess on my part." "Well, we don't need to get heated on his account, do we?" Lisa commented. "He's as entitled to his shrine as the rest of us. Call Imogen and let's get started on this canned mix-up." Nothing more was said about Hugh, but Nell felt that Lisa disapproved of her friendship with him. But after all, she thought, she was entitled to accept friendship where she could find it, and Hugh was so blessedly undemanding. She proved it all over again that afternoon. They drove out through the rubber and eventually met jungle again and with it the scent of durians and sweet tropical flowers. Nell had travelled such roads before, with her father, but she felt she would never tire of the sudden forest giants that towered above the blanketing palms and plantains, banana and tree fern. And she knew the faces of some of the people who either walked or rode in ox-carts along the edges, of the road. At first, she remembered, one Malay face had seemed much like another, but soon she had been able to pick them out; particularly, she had quickly been able to differentiate between the almond-eyed girls, even though they had in common a smallness and grace as well as the rich brown of their skin. The people, they met now were mostly boys with laden poles across their shoulders. They carried pots and baskets, bamboo cages containing chickens, and two of them toted a wild boar; there would be pork tonight to vary the monotony of fish for supper.

It took an hour for Hugh to deal with all the individuals who had rattan to sell, and Nell remained in the car the whole time. Even though shaded by a tree, the interior of the car was grillingly hot, and as she watched the men in an assortment of white and coloured cottons, and the women in bright sarongs and bajus, her eyes grew heavy and tired. Quite suddenly she was missing her father. Hugh came back accompanied by a boy bearing a huge basket of fresh vegetables and fruits. There were green coconuts and avocados, bananas of several different types, mango-steens and other fruits which Nell could not even identify. "I didn't know one could get such things here," she exclaimed. "Lisa will be delighted." "Dean sent the head-man an order to have this ready," said Hugh. "He seems to have robbed the gardens and the forest as well. We'll lodge it on the back seat. How are you feeling?" "Sleepy. Are you finished?" "Yes. The air is cooler now and it'll wake you up when we're moving. You might wave graciously to the old boy in the white duck jacket and sarong. He's the head-man." The swift darkness had fallen when they got back to Gwantan, and parted. The women dined sumptuously on roast pork, fresh vegetables and fruits, and went early to bed. After Nell had tied the girdle of her pyjamas she went to the square of space which served as a window and lifted the covering. It was darker than usual to-night and the smells were more pungent. If she hadn't known better she would have said the first rains were imminent. A huge, hairy-winged moth smacked against her cheek and made straight for the lamp. She dropped the window-screen quickly and got into bed. But even there

she could not escape the feeling of change in the atmosphere. Just a little, it frightened her.

Imogen was right about Harry Millard. He did turn up on Friday night and his brother, it seemed, was not particularly astonished. To smooth his way Harry had brought with him half-a-dozen four-gallon tins of petrol, obtained, one gathered, through the doubtful offices of his trader friends. After dinner on Friday night, he breezed into the women's quarters, and because Nell happened to be the only one standing he dropped a kiss on her temple. He gazed round upon them with those light hazel eyes, smiling and shaking his fair head. "I'll never understand this. A couple of men over there and you three over here; it's not natural. What happens when you get together—is it dynamite?" "Just homely fireworks," said Lisa, "except between Hugh and our Nell. For some reason they dovetail." "That means there's nothing dangerous between them. But then Hugh isn't a dangerous sort of person, is he?" "The two Millards pack enough explosive for three," commented Lisa dryly, "though your brand isn't the same as Dean's." "Not so effective, either, I'm afraid," he said ruefully. "You're not afraid of me." "But we like you, dear," put in Imogen gently. "Are you going to sit down, or would you like to take me for a walk?" "Both." He sat down. "Have you missed me?"

Imogen raised a thin black brow. "Which one of us are you addressing?" "All of you. Though I can't imagine Lisa ever missing any man." He gave Lisa a brilliant, teasing smile. "It would serve you right if you fell for Dean." "It certainly would," she agreed equably. "I'd deserve all I'd be likely target." He laughed, but the laughter had a faint edge. "I'd derive an unholy sort of joy from the spectacle of Dean in love. For the first time in his life he'd be at someone else's mercy, and I'm quite certain he wouldn't take to the sensation." "I think you're wrong about his being at a woman's mercy if he fell in love," said Imogen. "For one thing, he'd know from the beginning what was happening to him, and he'd see that it happened to the woman at the same time. She'd be the one all trembling and uncertain, not he." Nell leaned back in her corner and looked at Imogen, who knew so much concerning men that she could make bold statements about them. She saw that Harry was watching those lovely features, too, his smile a little set. "Who taught you so much about Dean?" he queried casually. Imogen shrugged, and Lisa answered, "She learned it at first hand. They were out together for about eight hours on Wednesday." "Really?" His mouth pulled in at the corners, and for the first time Nell noticed his chin was sharp and unstable. "What did he talk about for eight hours—rubber?"

"Not exclusively," she replied, unperturbed. "Part of the time we talked about you. In confidence, darling, Dean would like to see you married—but not to me." Faint colour darkened his cheekbones, and the edges of his teeth showed, as if he had tightened his lips, but he was still smiling. "Be too bad if he didn't get his own way this time, wouldn't it?" "What, dear Harry, do you mean by that?" "Let's take that walk, shall we?" After they had gone a silence hung for some time over the livingroom. Nell was lying back in her chair with her hands crossed behind her head, and Lisa had opened the newspaper which Harry had dropped upon the table. Something buzzed loudly between the curtain and the window-pane, and Nell got up to let it out. A little stiffly, she said, "Don't you think Imogen went too far? Isn't it possible she might start something she's not quite clever enough to handle?" Lisa sighed. "I don't much care for it, but she knows what she's doing. She's not like you, Nell, so you can't judge her by your standards. When she says she doesn't believe in love, it's the plain truth. At the moment she's willing to marry any man who measures up to her requirements. She prefers Dean, and I think she might even wait for his decision if she could be sure of him; after all, he's so well off that she could afford to ignore her uncle. But there's the chance that he's not irrevocably smitten, in which case, if she waited, she'd be financially stranded. On the whole, she and Harry might be suited." "For a real marriage it takes so much more," said Nell unhappily. "Perhaps I'm wrong, but I feel Harry deserves better."

Lisa looked up thoughtfully. "You're not just a wee bit taken with Harry yourself, are you?" "Of course not," Nell answered quickly. "To be honest, I'm a bit tired of all this talk of love and marriage. We've only been here about ten days, and you don't fall in love that quickly." Lisa pondered, and said something unexpected. "I believe it does happen quickly. Not love, but the mutual attraction that leads to it. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure it's happened between Dean and Imogen, but Imogen has gone too hard-boiled to recognise it, and Dean is cautious because he hasn't much trust in women. In a way, I wish we'd never come here!" Nell wished it herself, from the depths of her heart. At dawn next morning it began to rain. It was one of those rare storms which break in the dry season, to the joy of everyone. The fire danger was lessened, the parched lands of the natives would sprout within hours, the dust be well and truly laid, and the air itself lose that dry, burdened heat. True, the atmosphere became vaporous after rain and the risk of mildew had to be guarded against, but the noise of falling rain was like a promise. When Hugh "waded across to the building, Nell opened the house door quickly and called him in. "Surely your boys won't turn up for work this morning!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it marvellous!" "No, the boys won't be there to-day. I came over to see if you were all right. No leaks? What about your bedroom?"

She took his coat. "It hasn't seeped in anywhere yet, but I shall watch it at intervals. Imogen is still in bed, but Lisa's just finished breakfast. Do come right in." Lisa turned from the living-room window. "Quite a shower," she remarked. "How long is it going to last?" "Not long, I hope. Dean's gone up-river." "Good heavens, what a day to choose for an outing. Is he in the launch?" Hugh nodded. "Using some of the petrol Harry brought; we've been very short. He probably won't get back till nine or ten this evening. I told him we'd have you girls over at the bungalow for the day." It was not an enjoyable day. Harry and Imogen played the gramophone, he just slightly keyed up and she smiling and watchful; Hugh and Lisa had little to say to each other, and it was an effort to keep up general conversation. Nell would have said that Hugh could be depended upon to maintain a balance, but to-day he made no effort. After lunch the two men disappeared for a couple of hours, and when they came back for tea there was no noticeable heightening of the atmosphere. They played cards, had drinks, played again, and then dinner was served, and in due course the living-room was once more cleared. It had rained all day; not so heavily as during the early hours, but the first downpour had spoiled the clearing for walking and the pools had had no chance to subside. Lisa had just suggested that the women go early to bed when Dean came in. There had been no sound of his arrival, not even a step in the porch. The door simply opened and he walked in, unbuttoning a drenched raincoat. Nell's heart performed a familiar lurch; he looked grim.

His smile at them was very faint and without humour. "Don't go silent on my account," he said. "I'll have to clean up." Oddly, it was Nell who spoke. "Have you had dinner?" "No, but I'll find something." "The boy's gone. May I get you a tray?" Imogen gave a tinkling laugh. "Leave the man alone, sweetie. Can't you see he's had enough?" But Dean said, "All right, Helen. Go ahead and find me something to eat." As she went to the kitchen Nell's pulses were drumming uncomfortably fast, but she was glad to have something to do at last. She made sandwiches of sliced chicken and pork, set half-a-dozen fruits on a plate and made coffee. When the tray was ready the house seemed so abnormally quiet that she stood hesitating near the kitchen table, listening to the heavy beat of her own heart. Should she carry his supper through, or just tell him it was ready? Her impulse was to call to him and then slide out the back way, before he arrived. The small problem was solved by Dean himself. He entered the kitchen, clean now in fresh shorts and a white shirt. He looked over the tray. "Let's have another cup. We may as well share the coffee." For some reason her voice wouldn't rise above a whisper. "I'd better leave you to it." "No, I want you to stay." He got the extra cup himself and picked up the tray. "Go first; then I can turn out the lamp."

There was no one in the living-room. On an ashtray a spiral of smoke rose from a cigarette whose tip was tinged with lipstick, and Nell dealt with it with unnecessary slowness. She found that her teeth were clenched rather tightly and her movements jerky. "Where are the others?" she asked. "They've gone over the way." He indicated a chair. "You might pour the coffee." She did, black for him with two lumps of sugar. "I think I'd better go, too," she said. "Sit down." He sounded irascible. "I asked them to go because I had something to tell you. But for heaven's sake, relax! We've got to be sane about this." "About . . . what?" She sank into the chair at one side of the table, watched him take a sandwich and wondered, even in the moment of stress, if it was seasoned to his taste. "What have you to tell me?" "Don't worry—it's not your father. Come on, have one of these sandwiches. They're good." "I ... I couldn't. Dean, what . . .". He used his napkin, pushed the tray aside for a minute and leant on the table, towards her. "I sound a brute, don't I— but I don't mean to. I've had a rotten day." A pause. "I've been to Kahpeng. I'd have gone before if I'd had the fuel, but I don't suppose I'd have found out much more than I did today. Your father's not back yet, of course, but something pretty bad has happened during his absence—and yours. We at Gwantan aren't the only ones who've had a fire." "A fire?" she echoed, her eyes very green and large.

"Helen . . . your father's bungalow is burnt out. Completely finished, and not a thing saved." "Oh." It was a small sound of pain. She moistened her lips. "Did you find out how it happened?" "I questioned Ting and he said a white man who couldn't speak much English made inquiries about your father in the kampong the day before the fire. He's convinced the same man fired the house, and when I suggested bandits he was positive there were no bandits in the district. I went on to the police post and their news was the same. They didn't believe the story of a white man burning another white man's house, but they were certain the bandits who raided the mission at Kota Baran had been pushed back into the hills and couldn't possibly be responsible." He was looking straight into her stricken face. "I know it's hard for you, little one, but imagine what might have come about if you'd been there alone." She spoke through stiff lips. "It means we haven't a thing in the world. My father's clothes, and mine—our furniture. I suppose he'll get another house, but. . . Who in the world would do a thing like that?" "Some crank, I suppose—a foreigner with a grudge. But it isn't important." His hand reached hers and closed over it. "The police have sent word to your father; they have an idea where he is. They're putting up a temporary house for him at the post and they'll furnish it with local stuff at the government's expense. Meanwhile, you'll just have to go on living here till your father returns. He's sure to come back as soon as he gets the message from the police." She nodded and said nothing. Her hand withdrew from under his on the table and she sat back, pale and defeated. Her books and photographs, the treasures she had collected, the forty pounds in notes which she had been hoarding as sufficient for the few clothes

and other things she would need while staying on with her father ... all of them were gone. As if aware of her line of thought, Dean said quietly, "They're all material things which can be replaced. Whatever sentiment you felt for some of your possessions still exists, even though they're destroyed. I'm sorry about it, but I'm so darned glad you weren't there that the rest doesn't seem to matter. You mustn't let it matter to you, either." A little stiltedly, she answered, "You're right, of course. If my books hadn't burned they'd probably have mildewed, with no one to take care of them." But not the money, she thought Her voice shook, suddenly. "Dean, I'd give anything to see my father." "Yes, I know. If I could bring him to you, I would." He got up and came round to her, rested back upon the edge of the table at her side and bent her way. "Be patient for a few days; I've every hope he'll come here to Gwantan. If he can't, he'll send word—the police promised the use of their launch for the purpose. If I hear nothing by mid-week I'll send a canoe." "You're very good to take all this trouble," she said bleakly. A faint cynicism was audible in his tones. "Exceptionally good," he agreed, straightening away from her. "But I'm afraid I have to hand out a warning that you'd better keep this catastrophe to yourself. If Harry hears about it he'll pester you to marry him." "Harry?" Her head lifted a little. "Why should he pester me?" The blue glance darkened. "What does that mean—that he wouldn't have to pester you?"

"No." She was too spent to reply with vigour. "It's only that he never thinks of me that way." "How do you know? A man who's lonely thinks that way of every woman he meets. I've known for a long time that the only thing which will stabilise him here in Malaya is marriage, but he has to have the right woman. You wouldn't do." "Well, that's straight, anyway," she said without much spirit. "Why wouldn't I do?" She heard his teeth go together. He shoved his hands into his pockets, then spoke down to the top of her head. "Harry is not just a hobby with me; I know him through and through. When he gets married I want him to stay that way, but it can only happen if he links up with someone who understands and forgives, and who won't ask too much in the way of devotion and integrity. I don't believe for a moment that you'd fail him, Helen, but whatever you felt for him would die a protracted and painful death and you'd have to drag out the rest of your life on loyalty. Living with his insensitiveness would rip your heart out." His harshness didn't get through to her; she was still too shattered by her own disaster. Rather woodenly, she queried, "Wouldn't you help him to practise law in Singapore?" "No, I wouldn't! There, he'd be at the mercy of every sharper in the country. If he cuts adrift from Gwantan he can stay adrift. If he should propose to you," a subdued violence in his sarcasm, "you can quote me. As a matter of fact, I'd see to it that your father forbade the marriage. According to Malayan law, you're under age." With a jolt, she realised what he was getting at. Her fingers passed dazedly over her forehead. "Why should you be saying all this to me? If Harry is in love at the moment, it's with Imogen."

"You surmised that, I suppose. No proof?" "No proof," she admitted, "but even you must see that they like each other." "She's easy to like," he said in even tones, "and so is he. But Imogen is not going to marry him, because she happens to be in love with someone else." Perhaps it was fortunate that Hugh came in then. He looked from one to the other and surveyed the tray on the table. "I seem to have left my pipe somewhere," he said casually. "It's probably in your pocket," said Dean a trifle austerely. "You might take the child home, Hugh. Good night, Helen." Nell didn't go into the other house; she went straight to her room. The rain had stopped, but she could hear the dripping of water from the great trees and smell the wet scents of the forest. To-morrow it would be warm and sticky, but the day after that it would be dry again. The dry season in Malaya, she thought, was like life. One never knew when a storm might erupt and lift the roof. In the darkness she tried not to think about her father—or about Dean. Both of them hurt, but in vastly different ways. One thing she was sure of: as soon as she and her father were together again she would have to make arrangements to leave him, probably for good.

CHAPTER VI THE freighter came, loaded the latex, and left the women behind at Gwantan; it was as simple as that. On Monday evening, Lisa had mentioned carelessly that she had decided to wait for the next boat. Imogen twinkled and said, "Thanks," and Nell said nothing at all. She guessed they had arranged something between them and, knowing it could not concern herself, she had kept silent. So the freighter stirred up the ladang for a few hours and eventually departed with a blast of its siren. In fact, Lisa was a little annoyed with herself for having given in to Imogen's repeated demand that they both stay on at Gwantan. She couldn't feel that the place was doing any of them any good and she was quite certain that Imogen would have dozens of chances of a quick marriage in Singapore whereas here she had only one. "But Singapore is probably a week or more away by river and road," Imogen had protested, "and I've already put in two weeks' work here. Yes, work—hard work," she insisted as Lisa lifted a brow. "Dean has said he doesn't care for the idea of our travelling on the freighter because it will be so loaded; we've ample reason to back out. Particularly as we'd be leaving Nell here alone; that wouldn't do, really, would it?" _ It was this last which had finally decided Lisa. She was anxious about Nell. The girl was off her food and looking decidedly peaky, and the more one hinted at what might be troubling her the more she closed up. Lisa, jealous guardian of her own privacy, could not bring herself to probe very far. She guessed at a combination of things which might be troubling Nell; and against her will she mentioned the matter on Wednesday morning to Hugh Selwyn. Knowing his habit of walking across to the bungalow for tea at a quarter to eleven, Lisa wandered round to the door of the workroom

and took an interest in a fragrant bush which had been planted under a window. Hugh came out, pulling the door shut behind him. "Good morning," he said, with a reserve which seemed to have borrowed something from her own. "Taking up horticulture?" "It smells sweet. Does it keep in water?" "I've never tried it. Almost any flower will keep for a day or more if you scald the tips of the stems. Care for a cup of tea?" "I'd rather have a cool drink, but we haven't any ice at the moment." "Come along, then." The tray in the bungalow living-room was again set for two, but Hugh called the boy and asked for fruit juice and ice. When Lisa was settled with her glass he poured some tea. "Seems that you're committed to stay for another fortnight or so," he commented. "You're going to be awfully bored if you don't take an interest in something." "I've dealt with monotony for a number of years," she answered, "and I've never been really bored. It's the married women out here who get bored." Hugh gave himself an extra spoonful of sugar, and covered the bowl. "Did you meet many married women while you were at Kota Baran?" "A few. There was a woman doctor who used to come down for consultations from Kyala Peng, and the wife of a teak man, and several others married to government officials. One of them was infatuated with my brother because he had the look of an ascetic, and

the others were probably infatuated with one another's husbands. Mostly, I felt sorry for them." "And they, no doubt, felt sorry for you," he rejoined evenly. "It depends on the viewpoint. You've never had anyone who really meant a great deal to you, have you, Lisa? Oh, I know you gave several years of your life to your brother, but it wasn't love that drove you to it. In the beginning it was sisterly affection heavily spiced with pity, and later it degenerated into a duty. You've been very much alone." "Not at all." Her tone was hard. "I've had my work and the people I worked for." She shook her head at tie cigarettes he offered, straightened in her chair, and said, "There is someone who means quite a lot to me—more than I thought. Nell Patmore. At the moment I'm puzzled about her." "About Nell." He stretched his legs and looked through the open doorway at the sun-drenched palms. Consideringly, he added, "She's young and she takes things hard, but she takes them well. I don't know if you're thinking of butting in, but I wouldn't if I were you. She has plenty of courage." "You don't know a thing about women," she said shortly, "not about young ones, anyway. I only mentioned it to you because I wasn't sure whether you'd heard of something which might have upset her." Hugh drank some tea. With a trace of sarcasm he said, "I should have thought you more percipient than that. Nell wouldn't be dreadfully upset by something tangible; only briefly, anyway. Since we're being frank, may I state that your knowledge of human nature—male and female—is by no means complete. For some reason—and I believe it's because you have a fear of delving - you take people at their own valuation, and that's a mistake, because some people are modest and others much less so."

She shrugged. "Assuming you're right—what has Nell to do with it?" "Nell's an individual," he said. "Very much so. When she first arrived here she was inwardly happy if outwardly vexed by Dean's highhandedness. Maybe she's finding out a few things," he ended speculatively, "just as you might have done, when you were her age." "I'm afraid you're no help." "Perhaps I'm of more help than you realise. At least I can take her mind off her surroundings by giving her an hour or two at the pottery bench. As I've remarked before, it does one good to get interested in something." Lisa looked at the man who sat staring out with such apparent complacency at the clearing. She disliked big placid men, had disliked them more since knowing Hugh Selwyn. Room in his life for everyone, she thought scathingly, and a buried grief in his heart which made him smugly objective towards the rest of humanity. "Well, thanks for the drink," she said, and made as if to get up. But Hugh gestured to detain her. "Don't rush away just because we happened to disagree. There's something I want to ask you. I was going to broach it on Monday, but when Dean told me it was decided that you and Imogen would hang on here, I postponed it. You're definitely going to Singapore, aren't you?" "Eventually, yes. The medical missions have a headquarters there." She leaned back again, wondering what the subtle change in his expression signified. "If you get time while you're in Singapore I'd like you to do something for me. I have .some friends living there—a husband and

wife—who are taking care of my young daughter. Will you call upon them for me?" Lisa drew in her lip, and said slowly, "I didn't know you had a child. I didn't even know you were married." He spoke calmly. "I don't suppose you did. Dean and Harry Millard know, but I doubt if either of them considers it much of a subject for discussion. If I'd thought you'd be interested I'd have told you myself. However, you know now." "You have messages for these people who are looking after the little girl?" "Not really. I shall be seeing them when I take my leave. But before then I have to come to a decision, and I feel an independent opinion might be of assistance." "I know very little about human nature," she reminded him a little tardy. "My opinion might not be worth much." "Nice women instinctively know about children," he said, "and whether you like the label or not, you're a fairly nice woman, Lisa ... in spite of yourself." His smile was aggravating but she didn't take him up. "What do you want me to do?" He shifted slightly and looked her way. "I've known this couple in Singapore—the Richardsons—since I first came to Malaya. They have no children of their own, though they always wanted some—but Mrs. Richardson lost a couple of babies at birth and was then told she could have no more— yet she's never let it embitter her. She's a sterling person; that's why I let them have Betty." "How long has she been with them?"

"Nearly four years, and she's not quite seven. I've seen her several times each year, and she seems perfectly normal and happy with them, but . . . well, a minor crisis has cropped up. Richardson's health is deteriorating and he's asked his company for a transfer to a better climate. They're worldwide agents and have promised him the next vacancy in the West Indies. The whole point is—they have no children and have asked me if they can take Betty with them." For fully two minutes Lisa didn't answer. Not because she couldn't, but because she was trying to fathom whether anything really vulnerable lay beneath his passive exterior. She leaned forward suddenly and took a cigarette from the box on the table, and swiftly, forestalling his lighter, she struck a match. Crisply she said, "You're actually considering letting her go? Then I suggest you do so. These people would be better for her than a halfhearted father." "You haven't given it sufficient thought," he told her in level tones. "Betty knows the Richardsons far better than she knows me; if I took her from them she'd have to go to someone else, and perhaps in a year or two a similar upheaval would develop." "By then, you might be in a position to have her with you." On the point of asking why he hadn't taken over the child a year or two ago, when he had changed his job, she desisted. Probably he had come to Gwantan deliberately, knowing a motherless white child could never live there; it let him out. Perhaps the child was too sharp a reminder of her mother. "How does she stand up to damp heat?" she queried. "Betty's tough—she was born here. But there's the matter of her education."

"What sort of problem is that, to an education officer? Ifs my belief you just don't want the trouble of the child." He showed no sign of annoyance. "That's hardly the point. It's her happiness that counts. I thought you could call and see them all, and sound the child. She has quite decided views, and you could easily find out whether she's looking forward to going with them, or whether she'd rather be near me." Vexedly she said, "Don't you care — one way or the other?" "The present arrangement," he answered non-committally, "has suited me very well; any change, I'm afraid, is going to be for the worse. Betty belongs to me, and I shall do what's right for her." "But how can you be so utterly without feeling about it? I've never before met a man who'd let his child go out of his life like that." He stood up and said, abruptly for him, "Well, you've met one now. Will you go and see her for me?" She nodded, and rather forcibly squashed out the scarcely- smoked cigarette. "Yes, I'll do it." "I'll give you the address some time. You can write to me as soon as you've come to some sort of decision." "When do you go on leave?" "I'm hanging fire till I hear from Richardson that he's managed the transfer." He paused. "You think pretty badly of me, don't you?" "One can hardly admire a man who avoids responsibility for his own offspring. However, it isn't really my business." She flicked ash from her skirt and got to her feet. "Thanks for the drink," she said again, and walked out.

She knew that men in the jungle were apt to lose the finer feelings, but Hugh's insensitiveness where his own child was concerned beat everything. He couldn't always have been like that, or he would never have married. He must have loved that woman tremendously and Lisa knew, through her brother's experience, what immense love for a lost wife could do to a man. But in Hugh's case there was a child— a child who had been scarcely three years old when her mother died. At least, that was how it seemed. Hugh hadn't said as much; he still, apparently, could not bring himself to talk of her. Lisa looked at the sluggish brown river, at the great mangrove roots clawing their evil way out to the middle of it, and at the vines festooning the trees on the other bank. How could anything ever come right in a place like this? She had forgotten her earlier disquiet about Nell.

Nell had really recovered very well from the shock of losing nearly every material thing she possessed. But for the money which had gone up in the blaze she might have looked forward to making a new home for her father; there was an exhilaration in starting from nothing in a place where the natural elements of a home abounded. Bast and rattan, woven cottons,, bamboo in abundance, teak, cooking pots and other utensils in baked clay; so much could be accomplished with a parang—the Malay knife—and the produce of the forest. The prospect was by no means daunting. No word came from the police post, so on Wednesday Dean sent a boy he trusted along to Kahpeng in a canoe. At the same time he sent another boy down-river, to chase up his own supplies of petrol which seemed to be sidetracked somewhere between Kuala Lumpur and a junction called Merah. Both errands were likely to take two or three days.

Dean's actions were thoughtful and generous, but his manner was more withdrawn than before. Impossible to tell whether he was glad or sorry to have the three women at Gwantan for a further two weeks. About Imogen, Nell felt, he was not too sure, and that in itself must have been strange and infuriating to one of his nature. But he must know that she could be his if he spoke the word. Perhaps he felt that this was no sort of life to offer such a woman. Through Hugh, Nell learned that the third partner in the Gwantan Rubber Estates would be coming with Harry this week-end. There was to be a meeting of some importance between the three, and seeing that Dean held fifty-one per cent of the shares he was likely to get his own way. And that way, Hugh surmised, had something to do with a proposition from one of the international rubber companies. Far-reaching changes seemed to be in the air. In the middle of Saturday morning a boy came from the ladang with a message for Hugh. It had to do with certain lengths of plain fabric which he had ordered to be ready for printing on Monday, and Nell thought over the message for some minutes before deciding that he should be told at once. By that time the boy had gone, so she walked over to the bungalow herself and tapped on the wooden frame of the mosquito screen. The inner door stood open, so she saw Dean cross to lift the hook that secured the screen. "Come in," he said, and indicated a chair. She strove to ignore a senseless tightening of her nerves. "I thought Hugh would be here. A boy came up from the weaving shed with a message." "Important?" "It's about a flaw in some material they've been working on; they're afraid it's not good enough for batik."

"He's gone down to the oil extraction shed; there's some hitch with the press. I'll tell him about the material when he comes in." She moved back towards the doorway and he added calmly, "Sit down, Helen. You're behaving like something strung on wires. I can't be that frightening." She managed a smile, and nodded at the papers on the open desk. "I can see you're busy. If I'd known you were alone I wouldn't have interrupted." "I'm sure of that." He sounded sarcastic but his eyes were keen. "Was that really all you came for?" "Yes, of course. But now I'm here I would like to ask whether either of the canoes has returned." "One has. The petrol should be here within a few days. No news from Kahpeng yet, but your father must be about due home, so he may come down himself. I hope so." "So do I." She sank down into the chair and held the rattan arms. "He'll be a little . . . annoyed about the house, so if he should be offhand you'll understand, won't you? He's lived in it for fourteen years." His glance narrowed. "I've told you before that I've no quarrel with your father. I feel he did wrong to let you come here, but you'd be the first to remind me that it's hardly my business. Just now, all I feel for him is a profound pity." "He wouldn't like that, either." "No, and I'm not likely to put it into words. Don't worry, Helen. Even if I wanted to tell your father a few truths, I wouldn't, for your sake. I've no wish to hurt you."

Queerly, responding unconsciously to the steadiness of his gaze, Nell raised her head and looked at him. Her heart turned and the blood beat thickly in her throat. Her brain panicked, but in a second she was stilled by his utter coolness. There came sounds from the path, and Dean said, smooth as ice: "This is what you came for, isn't it? I heard the noise down at the jetty, too." The next minute Hairy was in the room, dropping his helmet on to the table and wiping his brow. He gave Nell a brilliant smile. "What a welcome! There can't possibly be anything better than having a little woman waiting—except, perhaps, having her waiting in one's own private hut. Kiss me, little Nell." Nell had stood up, but she was trembling. "Hallo, Harry." she said. "I was just going." He barred the doorway with one arm, gave his brother a sharp grin over the top of Nell's head, then bent towards her, his attitude one of rakish charm. The kiss glanced off the corner of her mouth. A voice of steel said, "Get away from that door, Harry! And do your philandering in private!" Her breath rasping as if she had been running, Nell heard Harry say, with a spark of anger, "Philandering, hell! Last week-end you warned me off Imogen. I'm fond of Nell . . ." In that moment she gathered enough energy to hurry out of the bungalow and across the clearing.

It was not a happy week-end. Clinton Nash, the third partner in the Gwantan Company, was that typical product of the jungle, a harddrinking recluse, and he was determined to spend his day and half at the bungalow on business. Consequently, Hugh passed the time between the workroom and the women's quarters, but even Hugh, Nell noticed, seemed to have locked himself up during the last few days. Imogen was plainly disgusted; her whole scheme was going to pieces. She had relied upon the two week-ends before the next boat was due, and here was one pf them drifting away and nothing to show for it but a ripped handkerchief and a trite letter to her stepmother. When Harry came in that evening to say good-bye she scarcely bothered to answer him. "It's not my fault I haven't seen more of you all," he told them ruefully, as he shoved back the rumpled fair hair. "I've waded through so many statistics in the last few hours that I shall be glad to get back to my own place for a rest! But I believe we've come to a decision agreeable to us all, though I'm not permitted to divulge details. Life should be much brighter from now on." None of them could guess what he meant, but Imogen thought he was probably going to have a launch of his own, so that he could come up mid-week for an evening if he wished. As she told Lisa that night, the future as these planters saw it was too far off; her own deadline was next week-end. "I simply daren't wait longer," she said. "For one thing, these men would take a guess that might be somewhere near the truth, and for another, I'm broke, except for my fare home. I couldn't possibly wear store goods, as Nell does, and I can't go on appearing in the same half-dozen dresses. I asked Binks to have my trunk sent down to Singapore. I wonder if he did it?"

"You'll find out. I've been thinking that we might get across land to Kuala Lumpur, and travel down by air." "What would we use for money?" "That's just it." Lisa shook her head. "I could run to it, and so could you if you were not so set on a first-class fare home, but it would be a waste, particularly as I'm in no hurry. You were the reason we missed the last boat, my dear, and I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for the next." The following morning the ladang acquired the trimmings of festivity. The houseboy told Nell there was to be a village feast that evening. With glistening eyes he recounted all the wonders of such a function; food, dancing, mahjong and river sports in the moonlight. This particular feast came once a year at Gwantan, and it was put on specifically for the estate workers. The Tuan Besar gave sucking' pigs and a box of trinkets for the women, and the rest was provided by the people of the ladang - a profitable venture, because the coolies liked to gamble and they invariably lost. By the time the sun had gone and the sky attained the violet hue of fleeting dusk, the fires had been lit and the pigs, skewered from snout to tail on rods, had been lodged above the flames. Shrill laughter came from the houses, an occasional slant-eyed beauty, her brown naked shoulders agleam or baju twinkling, crept down to view the space which had been cleared for dancing, and children were somersaulting in the smoky light from makeshift oil lamps. Nell had seen this kind of thing before, many times, but the troops of coolies who came out of the forest were a new experience. Their dress was Chinese, their faces had a Javanese cast, but they spoke the Malay which is used throughout Indonesia.

She had been watching so intently from the darkness of the trees which separated the ladang from the clearing, that she didn't hear Hugh Selwyn behind her till he spoke. "Noisy, aren't they?" he said. "This is a great night for them, but they'll go home poor men." "Where do they come from, originally?" "A recruiting agent in Singapore. They come for two or three years and then go home. Dean always keeps their living quarters apart from those of the locals, and this is the only sort of occasion on which they mix." "Don't they bring wives?" He skirted this. "They have a few women. I don't think you should stay here, Nell." She turned reluctantly. "No, I suppose not. But it's nice to see people happy. We don't seem able to have good times as they do." He smiled. "Perhaps it's as well we're more restrained. There's less to be sorry for afterwards." "Lisa thinks I'm missing all the fun a girl should have, but I don't feel I'm missing much. I wouldn't mind staying in Malaya indefinitely if I had a worthwhile job." "The only worthwhile occupation here for a woman is marriage," he commented, drawing her towards the path which ran between the river and the bungalow. "I think when the time comes you'll make rather a good thing of marriage, Nell. I hope you'll fall in love wisely."

She couldn't think of a reply to this. A Malay passed them on the path, coming down from the bungalow, and Hugh said: "He's the boy Dean sent to Kahpeng. There may be news of your father." "Oh, I hope so." She began to move quickly. "Dean promised to let me know as soon as the boy returned. Hugh," hesitantly, "will you let me go in alone?" "Of course," he said at once. "I'd only just started my walk when I saw you there among the trees." "You're awfully sweet." "You're so easy to be sweet to—if you'll pardon the obvious compliment. Good luck." Luck, she felt as she stood collecting herself in front of Dean's door, was what she most needed. Since last Saturday morning she had only seen him a couple of times from a window in the other building, but now it seemed as if he had voiced his cold contempt only a moment ago. Had ha- errand been less urgent she would have fled. She raised her hand to rap, but before her knuckles reached the wood the doors opened, first the main door and then the screen. Hurriedly, before he could speak, she said, "I believe I saw the boy you sent by canoe to Kahpeng. Did he bring news?" Dean's face was set, without expression. "Yes, they've met up with your father. I was just coming over to see you. You'd better come in." "I know you'd rather I didn't. Please tell me here." "Come in," he said, rather more forcibly, and stood back for her to enter.

She came to the table and stood there, her hands unconsciously clenched at her sides. A praying mantis clung to the wall above the glow of the lamp and she found herself staring at it with an intensity that hurt her eyes. Dean took the cigarette which had been sending up a column of smoke from an ashtray, and drew on it. "The boy said a police patrol up north met your father. He was rather unwell and they looked after him, but he has now left them for Kahpeng. He should reach there to-day or tomorrow." "Unwell?" Her face had drained of colour. "What was wrong with him?" "I don't know. Malaria, perhaps." "He's never had malaria." "Well, maybe some other bug got into him. He'll have to take leave at last, and that will be good for both of you." She swallowed to ease a dryness in her throat. "I must go to Kahpeng at once. I wish I had the little motor boat, but if I can borrow a canoe . . ." "You're not going by canoe!" His voice was cold and angry. "Don't try to ignore me! I agree that you must go and I'll take you myself, in the launch. We'll start at dawn." His manner steadied her. "I'll be taking you from your work." "Only for a day, and it's not important. After all, I assumed responsibility for you and the least I can do is hand you over to your father." "You speak as if I'm an infant."

His nostrils thinned. "That's safest, don't you think? A child can get away with situations that a woman would have to answer for. I'm not blaming you in any way for what happened between you and Harry, but your innocence in a place like this is dangerous." "You'll be glad to have me go, then." He looked at the tip of his cigarette. "Not exactly, but you'll be safer with your father for the next few weeks. It'll give you time to forget things and get a sense of proportion." "I don't know what you mean." "You will, when you think it over." He pressed out the . cigarette. "Just keep in mind the fact that Harry has already spoilt one woman's life." Without spirit she answered, "I wouldn't marry Harry if he begged me to." One of the straight thick brows lifted. "No? I'm glad to hear it, but you must pardon me if I don't quite believe it. I didn't notice any shrinking from his kiss." "One doesn't shrink from the totally unexpected." Unwisely she added, "I hardly thought he'd behave like that with you there." "I see," coolly. "An audience is unusual. Well, I'm afraid you won't have time to say good-bye to Harry, but you'll have to get your other farewells said tonight." Standing in that room Nell had been only vaguely conscious of the noise of singing and laughter down in the ladang, but now the music came suddenly closer. A harsh tinkling, the tuneless twang of the Malayan guitar, the high-pitched chanting of dance music. Dean opened the doors and pushed the stop into place. Beyond him, no

more than a yard from the steps, a dozen dancers were ranged in two lines, and behind them were the musicians and a mixed crowd of Malays and estate workers. "This is an honour," Dean said to her quietly. "Just stand beside me and look pleased." So Nell took her place under the extended thatch, and she put on a smile that ached. In other circumstances she would have enjoyed the traditional dancing, because this was on a much grander scale than any she had witnessed before. The dance ended abruptly, and someone came forward from the shadows with a palm-leaf basket containing three cooked chickens laid in leaves and flanked by papayas, avocados and bananas. Very carefully the burden was laid before the Tuan Besar and the white woman so that it was quite obviously no more for one than for the other. Nell knew the simple course of their thoughts: a man and a woman alone in a house do not need to be explained to Malays. She felt sick and rather tired. The villagers and their guests wandered back to the ladang. Dean called instructions to the houseboy about the gift basket and then, without further words, accompanied Nell to the other building. "Be ready at a quarter to six in the morning," he said.

CHAPTER VII THE night had been warm and sultry but dawn came up like a revelation, pinking the sky above the river and burnishing the treetops with morning freshness. The shrilling of cicadas died and birds screeched their greetings while a few gibbons sat on high, scratching and yawning while they decided where to begin their day. The launch slid smoothly along in mid-river. The engine hardly chugged; it had a rich and powerful purr which reminded Nell of the outboard motor because it was so different. The speed made a good breeze, and she loosened the neck of her shirt to get the utmost benefit from it. This morning, she was partly reconciled. Looked back upon, the two or three weeks at Gwantan had been dream-like in monotony and frustration. She had never been so unhappy in her life, and the whole business was best put behind her. Perhaps it was easy to tell herself this with Dean only a yard away inside the cabin, but Nell knew she had to be strong enough to get through the next few hours, and the only way to be strong, she thought, was to give up self-probing and laugh at herself, if she could. She felt that something had changed within her, hardened a little. She was not the girl who had collapsed with tears into Dean's arms, nor would she admit, even to herself, that her unhappiness had come from the pain of loving him. You don't love a man who has contempt for you; you only think you do. And thinking can be controlled. Thus reasoned Nell, in her innocence. She was sitting on a bench which had the cabin wall for a back. Through the glass, had she cared to turn her head, she could have seen him leaning forward on the wheel and watching the bends of the river. He, had he looked, could have seen her profile, pure and tender against the dark background of trees, and the fragile smoothness at

the side of her forehead where the light streaky hair was whipped back. "We'll be there by ten," he said. "Are you hungry?" "No, but if you're pouring the coffee, I'll have some." She heard him pin the wheel and move the picnic basket. They were distinct sounds, above the low roar of the engine and the swirl of water. The partition between them and the fact that the river twisted too much for him to leave the cabin helped considerably. Nell took the plastic cup from him and, because he insisted, she accepted a plate and a sandwich which tasted hot and wet from the damp cloth in which the boy had wrapped the food. "I'm beginning to know this stretch of river," he said. "Odd that you should have been here two years, and never been down as far as Gwantan since your arrival." "Well, you haven't been up our way, either." "I've been past Kahpeng a few times, on crocodile hunts. I hope to have another go at the crocs before I leave." She swallowed suddenly. "Do you mean, go on leave?" "No. I'm finishing with Gwantan in about three months. We're selling out to one of the big companies." "Selling out?" The remains of the sandwich dropped back on her plate and she turned her face away, towards the mangroves. "Did you decide it at last Sundays conference?" "More or less. Nash and my brother are staying on their plantations as managers, but I'm getting out altogether. I fancy tea-planting somewhere within sight of the sea."

"Can you do that in Malaya?" "It doesn't have to be Malaya, and I'm not in a hurry." "Did you . . . insist on Harry remaining as manager?" A brief pause. "Yes, I did, but it's only for a year; after that he can do as he likes. I thought it would do him good to work for a company. The company's general manager will take over my place, and Harry isn't so far away." Nell remembered Harry's remark about a brighter future and wondered what had been in his mind; there hadn't been any sorrow that Dean would be leaving. Probably Harry hadn't it in him to be sorry about anything; odd that he should be so shallow, and yet so likeable. "Are you tired of rubber planting?" she asked. "Not tired, but I've had enough of it. It's not the sort of life one can stick at for ever. There happen to be things I want that I can't have while I stay there." Perhaps it was the imminence of their parting which gave her the courage to ask, "Such as . . . marriage?" "If you like," he said, and was silent. Nell drank her coffee and stood up. "Can I wash the cups somewhere?" "No, leave them. I'll get the basket cleared out at Kahpeng. Sure you won't have another sandwich?" She shook her head, leaning against the opening to the cabin. His hand on the wheel was lean and brown and effortless. The

forewindow was fastened back and the breeze came at him, flapping gently at the corners of his shirt collar but scarcely lifting the thick dark hair. In her breast she felt a sharp, wild sensation, as of wings beating against bars; it hurt unbearably. He looked at her suddenly, studied her. Her lips quivered with the sudden pain of all it meant to her to be alone with and near to him, and she turned the quivering into a smile. "Will Hugh remain at Gwantan?" she asked. "He hasn't decided, but the company would be glad to have him do so. As a matter of fact, I believe he has a few problems to iron out. I expect he's told you that he has a small daughter in Singapore." "No," she said slowly, "but I'm not surprised he's been married. He's so friendly and tolerant." "Is that the hall-mark of a married man?" he queried with a trace of sarcasm. "It sounds dull." "No, it's restful. I feel I could say almost anything to Hugh and be sure he'd understand." "That," he replied with acidity, "is because he happens to be more than double your age and unwilling to risk a second marriage. His interest in women is gentle and brotherly." "Well, I like it." "What does that mean—that you're frightened of anything more positive?" "No!' she answered, looking down at the scrubbed planks of the deck. "I suppose it means that I found him a relief. You, if I may say so, have had me unnerved a few times."

"I gathered that," he said laconically. "You need years, my child— about eight of them." "That would make me older than Imogen," she stated quietly. "No, because you'll never be really sophisticated. A few women, like Imogen, are born full of knowledge. Instinctively they know all about men and the way to get what they consider is the best from life. It would have done you good to learn a little from Imogen. Not too much, But a little. Too late now." The launch slowed as they reached Kahpeng. Nell saw the wood and attap houses raised on stilts at the river's edge, the kampong meandering back into the jungle, a few dark-skinned people bathing and shouting, "Tabek, tuan! Tabek, Mem Patmore!" Both she and Dean waved, but the launch went on, to the police post. The launch pulled right in beside the bank, and a boy who had been squatting against a tree caught the rope and tied up. A police officer in shorts and a sun helmet came down to meet them; he was young and jaded-looking, his shirt dark with sweat. "Hallo, sir," he said to Dean. "I was half-expecting you." "This is Miss Patmore," Dean told him. "Sergeant Bridges is new since you left, Nell." "I've heard about you," the young man said, smiling wearily. "I'm here alone at the moment, so you can guess how glad I am to see you." "Isn't my father here?" asked Nell quickly. "Not yet. My colleague—you probably know Hartley?— went off last night to meet him. They should be in soon. Come and have a drink."

The interior of his little wooden house was bare of everything except essentials. Two chairs, a table, a stool, a cupboard and a crude bookshelf. Some time, this might be converted into a permanent police post and a measure of comfort installed, but now it was merely a group of shelters for transient officers. All they could be sure of was a plentiful supply of tinned foods and a pat on the back if information gathered by their company of Malay police led to the capture of bandits. Bridges took a bottle of gin from the cupboard and told them, apologetically, that he couldn't offer anything but water with it. He poured, and sat down on the stool to drink with them. He seemed to be uneasy, till Dean asked a few questions which dispelled his awkwardness. Presently, a khaki- clad Malay came in with a message, and Bridges excused himself; he was wanted over at the police hut. After he had gone Nell put down the drink she had scarcely tasted. "It's disappointing that my father hasn't arrived. I was sure he would have. You... you don't have to wait, Dean." "I'm going to," he said calmly, "even if he doesn't get in till this evening. Let yourself go, and have a cigarette." On edge, she said: "You know I don't smoke." "This seems a good time to try," he suggested. "It'll go with your first gulp of gin." She took the cigarette with a jerky movement and put it to her lips; then held it again. "Do you suppose that beastly old car let my father down? He always said it wouldn't, but don't you think . .." "I think you're trying very hard to work yourself into a state of nerves," he answered evenly. His lighter flicked on. "You should

have learned by now that in the jungle one has to be patient. Yes, the car could have let him down; there might also be a river in flood or a bridge down; it might even be something simpler—like a log fallen across the road. Smoke your cigarette, Helen." He steadied her wrist and touched the flame of the lighter to the cigarette, gave a faint, narrow grin as she blinked away smoke. "Let's go over and have a look at the house they've prepared for you. It was only just begun when I was here last" It wasn't really a house, Nell discovered, when they entered the bamboo and reed structure which appeared to have grown of its own accord among the wild bananas and cycads. It was one large room with a partition along the middle and a camp bed in each section. A couple of chairs and a packing case converted into a chest of drawers completed the furnishings. Dean turned back a rough blanket and fingered a thin coir mattress. He looked grim. "What a bed for a woman! I'll send the mattress you've been sleeping on at Gwantan. These chaps have done their best with what they had available, but you couldn't stay for long in such appalling conditions." "We'll improve it no end. I'll get matting for the floor and some curtaining from the kampong." "But you'll have to go over to the other house for a bath— do you realise that?" He sounded angry, as though he could have done a thousand times better himself in half the time. "You haven't even facilities for boiling water! And as for..." He broke off, as if she had better not know the worst … She was pale, but no more disquieted than before. How could such things be important, when already she knew such an ache of loss? "My father's resourceful," she said, "and if he decides to take a

holiday we shan't have to put up with this for long. After losing our own house, we're lucky to have somewhere to go." "If you were a boy it wouldn't matter," he said almost savagely, and stalked out into the dappled sunshine. Each minute, that day, was as long as ten. They lunched with Bridges on tinned sausages and peas, drank coffee which had the dank, earthy taste of river water and rested in the rattan chairs amid a deafening hum of insects. From where she sat Nell could see through the open doorway a dead snake which looked alive because it was being shifted bodily by a whole regiment of ants. The great brown things outlined the snake like a thick trickle of molasses and gradually, very gradually, it moved over the red earth towards the meng-kuang grass. To-morrow, a withered snakeskin would be all that was left of a once-proud reptile. They had some tea, then came sudden nightfall and the customary blessed coolness. She walked outside and breathed it in, and when she had been there a minute or two Bridges came over from the hut. "This is worrying for you," he said awkwardly, "but I believe Mr. Patmore will get here to-night. I do want you to know that I'll do whatever I can for you. I'm so sorry we can't offer you better accommodation." "You've done very well," she told him sincerely. "The waiting is rather a strain, but I'll get over it." He hesitated, wanting to say more, but after a brief sigh he went indoors. Nell heard the two men talking in low voices, and she hoped Dean wasn't making the young policeman feel that he should have managed cosier temporary quarters for the Patmores. Driven by an unhappy restlessness she walked round the house and back to the main door. It wasn't particularly hot now, but the closeness of the

trees was stifling. Something was prowling through the undergrowth not far away, and Nell remembered, dispassionately, her first conception of Malaya, as a jungle country teeming with wild animals. In fact, she had seen almost no big game at all; nothing much larger than a monkey. Dinner was no more imaginative than lunch, but Nell was without appetite, anyway. She couldn't settle to cards afterwards either, and with Dean she was almost querulous. "Please go," she begged. "If my father isn't here by midnight I'll go to bed. He won't come later; he never does. He always says he'd rather spend the night in the car and get here at dawn. Please go, Dean." "Don't be an idiot," he answered. "By now you must know that I generally mean what I say. I intend to wait and see your father." "Well... can't we go out to meet him, then? Perhaps Sergeant Bridges can lend us a car." "I'm afraid I can't," came the harassed response. "We've only the jeep, and Hartley has it." Dean gave him a quick look and said casually, "You deal, Bridges. And stop fretting, Helen. It's only ten-thirty." Somehow another hour wait by, and then came the distant, echoing roar for which Nell had braced herself . It neared and stopped abruptly; twigs crackled and she jumped to her feet, pale and expectant. "Steady," said Dean. Hartley came in. He was older than the sergeant and normally less serious in outlook. But now he was obviously tired out, and though he made an attempt to mop the grime and sweat from his face, the

effect remained of a man who had travelled fast and far to no purpose. "Hallo, Nell," he said. His glance questioned Dean and in reply he received a faint nod. "Bad news,- I'm afraid," he added. "I couldn't do any more, Nell. Your father's dead." She took the news in complete silence. The last vestige of colour drained from her face, her hand groped behind her back for the chair, and, not finding it, clenched pitifully against her spine. Dean was behind her, holding her shoulders and speaking quietly, urgently. "I didn't tell you before because I was hoping for the best, as you were. The patrol that met your father up north reported that his arm had been mauled, probably by a tiger. He seemed to have slight poisoning, but when he heard about the razing of the bungalow he determined to carry on with his journey. That ,was why Hartley went up to meet him." Hartley threw out a hand, almost pleadingly. "I went as fast as I could in the police car. At a kampong they told me your father had collapsed there and died within a few minutes. That was last night. I managed to reach a missionary this morning, and we . . ." He tailed off, but after a moment added, "He always used to say a tiger or a buffalo would get him one day and that he wouldn't want it any different. It's tough for you, of course, but he wouldn't want you to grieve. You know that." She nodded, still wordless. Dean said, "You couldn't have done more, Hartley. Get some rest. I'll take Nell to her billet. And, thanks." She let Dean lead her into the cool dark night, let him draw her after him into the primitive dwelling she had expected to share with her

father. He pressed her gently down on to the bed, and brought the hard chair close, for himself. He leaned towards her, took both her hands in his. "It's life, Helen," he said softly. "These losses come to all of us simply because our parents are a generation older than we are. I know you feel that it leaves you terribly alone, but it isn't true. In spite of themselves," he gave the ghost of a grim smile, "people get fond of you, and there's no one who knows you who wouldn't do all they could for you. Don't wallow in sadness for your father; he did enjoy his life." She spoke at last, huskily. "I ... I can't understand how he ever let an animal get near enough ..." "A slight error of judgment, perhaps. He was after those poachers, remember—and he got them—so Bridges told me this afternoon. Quite early in the chase he trapped one and handed him over to the local police. The other got away and came south; it was he who set fire to your bungalow. He then went north again to attempt the rescue of his pal, and he was picked up, too. They're all the details we know, but it's easy to complete the picture." She slid back to lie on the bed. Her mouth quivered. "But to die . . . for poachers." "They were foreigners, suspected of running arms to the bandits. The collection and caging of zoo animals was probably a blind. Jim Patmore did a good job." Nell lay quietly with her eyes closed. The poor lamplight shadowed her features and sharpened them, accentuated the vulnerable look of the temples, where veins beat. Dean went to the other bed and took the blanket from it, covered Nell and sat down again. She heard him speaking but she didn't know what he said. His voice went on and on,

soothingly, and presently she slipped down towards the rim of sleep. The words ended, something happened which made her want to struggle up into consciousness; something warm and light upon her cheek. Fingers? A kiss? It was gone, and she dozed like a spent, unhappy child. It was still dark when she awakened. She realised that the lamp had been moved to the far corner of the room and turned low, that Dean was bending over her and asking in a whisper if she was awake. She looked up at him, discerned the dark outline of his head, and with his nearness came the sickening impact of reality. Her small sensitive face looked suddenly ravaged. "I've brought you some coffee," he said evenly. "Get your bearings before you sit up." "What time is it?" she asked thinly. "Five. We'll move off as soon as it's light." She got up on one elbow, pushed back her hair with a shaking hand. "Didn't you get any sleep? Where have you been?" "Right here, most of the time. The chair grew hard so I went and made some coffee. Feel better?" She looked away from him. "I don't know how I feel What did you mean—move off? He bent down and lifted a cup of coffee from the reed tray on the floor. "There's nothing to stay here for," he said, in those smooth, level tones. "We're going back to Gwantan." "Not Gwantan. I can't go back with you, Dean."

"You can't stay here," he told her flatly, "not even to wait for transport. These two policemen have their hands full and I've already told them you're going with me." She took the coffee, saw that it was nearly black, and sipped. Dully, she said, "You have no duty towards me, Dean. If you'd get Lisa to lend me a little money . . ." "Stop it," he said, "and finish the coffee. I've no intention of leaving you in this grass shack, and I certainly do have a duty towards you, even though it's a self-imposed one. But apart from duty, apart from any other consideration, I still wouldn't leave you here; I wouldn't leave any woman in such a place." Slowly, she drank the coffee. She felt dried up and emotionless; totally unable, or even wishful, to argue with him. She reached out and put down the cup, drew back the blanket and sat up on the side of the bed. Dean was opening the bag she had brought with her and extracting the little toilet case she had made during one of her leisure hours at Gwantan. The sky was already lightening as she came out again into the air, and the native police patrol were tying up their canoe. In the room where she had spent the night, Dean was finishing his second cup of coffee. He had tidied the bed, and now took the toilet case from her and placed it back in her bag. Then he slipped the torch into his pocket, picked up the bag and grasped Nell's elbow. "Come along, child," he said. "Once we're on the way you'll feel more normal." They said good-bye to Bridges in the hut, gave him a message for Hartley and then went down to the launch. Before the first pink scarves of cloud had disappeared, they were a mile or two down the river, Nell in her old position beside the cabin.

Dean talked. Of rubber, and of various vacations he had taken in Singapore and Ceylon, and in England. He invited, and at length commanded her to take the wheel and keep the launch mid-river. He pointed out angry gibbons, a pair of young crocodiles and a perfect natural arbour formed by pink-blossomed climbers and a couple of branches. And shortly after nine he brought the launch alongside the landing stage at Gwantan. And it was there that Nell's numbness began to fade, and she faltered. "Dean," unconsciously she sought his hand. "May I go to your house while you tell the others?" He squeezed her fingers and dropped his arm about her shoulders. "We'll have breakfast before we do anything else. You're not to be anxious—about anything. I'm in charge." "They may see us arrive." "Imogen won't be up yet and I doubt if Lisa will be watching at the window. Come on, Helen." They were scarcely in the living-room before the boy appeared again, carrying a check tablecloth. "Eggs and bacon, tuan?" "That's right, Tai. For two. And make some good tea." He looked at Nell. "Would you like him to iron up one of these dresses?" "I'll do them myself later, thanks." When the meal was over he lit a cigarette for her, and insisted on her taking it. He went to the window and stood there, one hand in his pocket while he smoked. "I've been an awful nuisance to you," she said.

"I suppose you have, in a way," he agreed. "It's always a nuisance to be shaken out of one's routine. I daresay it does one good, though." He half-turned. "Do me a favour, Helen. Don't talk about the future for a few days—with the others or with me. You're not fit to tackle it, anyway. And for heaven's sake don't worry about money; that's the least of it. Just let everything slide till next week-end. By then things will have crystallised." "Money may be the least of it," she answered in a low voice, "but it happens that I haven't a penny. My father had a little in the bank at Singapore, and his leave pay will eventually come through. He paid my fare out and was going to pay it home again." "Leave it, there's a good girl. It can be straightened out later on. I'm going over to see the others." He tossed his cigarette from the window into an earth bed that once had held flowers. "Hell, here's Hugh. You won't want to see him yet, so I'd better go and meet him." But Hugh was in a hurry and Dean met him in the porch. Nell got up and stood in the doorway, and Hugh gave her a surprised but humourless smile. "So you couldn't leave us, Nell." "Trouble?" asked Dean. "Big trouble." Hugh looked again at Nell, and back at Dean. "I came over as soon as I heard you were back. Dean, both the women have gone." Dean's face hardened into a stern mask. "The deuce they have! What's the story?" Hugh shrugged and let out a sharp sigh. "It was Harry. He came here yesterday at about five in an old motor vessel he'd rented from the

traders near his place. I think he must have had a high lunch with them because he behaved rather ... well . . ." "Disgustingly?" through closed teeth. "No. Loose-tongued, I'd call it He said he was finished with the plantation, that he was going to take his portion of the purchase price and clear out of Malaya. I reminded him that the money was really yours, but he came back at me with some quip about my being too small-minded to accept a gift gracefully. If you'd been here he wouldn't have gone so far; as it was, he simply let himself rip. I kept him here in the bungalow till he'd sobered somewhat, but later he went over to the women. At about nine Lisa came and told me that Harry had offered to escort them both to Singapore—that they could start out right away. Imogen," he slurred the name, not looking at Dean, "was all for it and Lisa was almost won over. She didn't know, of course, that Nell would be back, and her argument was that it might not be safe to let Imogen go alone with Harry; she also felt that it wouldn't be very wise if she stayed here alone, waiting for the next freighter." Dean drew a sharp breath. "And you let them go!" Hugh's face darkened slightly. "Do you think I wanted to? On the other hand,- would you say I had any right to stop them? I reasoned with Lisa, and I'm sure she wouldn't have acted so precipitately if it hadn't been for Imogen's determination to go off with Harry. I told Imogen you'd be furious and that did set her back a little, but Harry dragged her away to the jetty." "If you'd had any sense," said Dean, his jaw jutting, "you'd have knocked Harry cold and cut the boat adrift" "It so happens," replied Hugh, his mouth very straight, "that I'm not Harry's keeper. I got in touch with Nash and he promised to drive

over to the other plantation to-day. For the rest, it's your concern, not mine." "The women were left here in your care," Dean said, "but never mind. You'll be happy to get your quarters back." Hugh glanced fleetingly at Nell, seemed about to voice something placating, but turned abruptly instead, and walked away. Nell stood in the doorway, staring at Dean. Lisa was gone; Lisa and Imogen, both gone. Which meant that she, Nell, was here alone with the two men. Not that it mattered; they wouldn't bother with Nell. But she created a problem. She felt a queer stabbing in her throat. Dean had lost Imogen and he wasn't taking it too well; not that he looked much different, except for the sternness. But inwardly, perhaps, he was quivering as from a raw wound. No, not Dean. Nothing could ever hurt him that much. Still, he was feeling something very strong, or he wouldn't stand there with the muscle working in his jaw and his eyes as hard as blue stones. He turned and saw her, softened slightly. "Poor little Helen," he said. "You've lost Lisa, and Hugh is back in his own rooms. You can sleep here and I'll spend the nights over in your grass hut. It won't be for long." "Aren't you going to follow them?" "No," he said decisively. "For one thing, they have a good twelve hours' start, and for another, they're all well over age and eminently capable of looking after themselves. Harry has cut loose, and he can stay loose. I'm finished with him. As for the women . . ." He broke off and came back into the room. "I'm terribly sorry," she said.

His regard was heavy and speculative. "So am I. It forces me into the position of having to make a decision I'm not ready for." "For one like you, that must be very peculiar." "It's not only peculiar; in some respects it's shattering." He gave one of his economical gestures. "The place is yours; make yourself at home, and don't worry about anything. And, Nell ..." "Yes?" "Promise me something?" "Almost anything." "The almost lets you out. Promise me you'll do nothing reckless, that you'll stay in the clearing and try not to mope." "I promise." "Good. I'll be back later." Standing there in the middle of his room and watching his shadow vanish, Nell moistened her lips. She hadn't cried for her father, but thinking of Dean and the warmth of his friendship and care brought a stinging to her eyelids. It was strange and rather terrible to think that Dean was practically all she had.

CHAPTER VIII LIFE at Gwantan was different, very different. Nell had little to do, but as her inclination matched her energy that was not important. While still in bed, she heard Dean come in early for his breakfast each morning and go out again, after which the house was her own till he should return at five or six. For three days he plied busily between his own plantation and Harry's, but at the end of that time he was able to leave the place in the charge of the foreman, who happened to be an excellent Malay he had trained himself to assist his brother; thereafter, it would be necessary for him to go downriver only once or twice a week. Even within days, Nell's sadness had mellowed. Her affection for her father had been blind and unreasoning, but now she saw that their life together could not have gone on for so very much longer. Having known him so sketchily in childhood, she had never been able to come close to him as an adult. She still awakened in the middle of the night, sweating from the nightmare of a tiger leaping upon him unawares, but she was too young and resilient to carry her grief right through the day; in daylight she felt merely flat and tired. Hugh Selwyn had briefly expressed his sympathy but had not lingered to talk. The constraint, Nell thought, persisted between him and Dean, and she would have liked an opportunity of telling him that she did not blame him in the least for his inaction where Harry was concerned. On Saturday evening after dinner, she made the opportunity. From her bedroom window she saw that there was a light in the workroom, so she slipped out through the kitchen and went across. Hugh opened the door. "Oh, it's you, Nell," he said, rather distantly. "Come in. I've been altering one of the machines."

"You don't mind my coming?" "Of course not. How are you feeling now?" "Not too bad. I wish I could decide what to do when I get to England." "You're definitely going, then?" "I expect so." An oddness in his expression made her ask, ''What would I do in Malaya?" He did not answer this. "Come and look at these pottery plates the boys have made. The design is excellent." Good though the plates were, she thought he clung to the subject rather too long. She admired the angular design of a head in glittering headdress, and herself drew a picture in one of the boys' books. "Was Lisa going straight to Singapore?" she asked him. "She was aiming to." "I hope she won't leave at once. I'd like to see her again." "She said she would try to get back to Kota Baran with a new doctor. If she manages it, she'll come this way again." Nell handled one of the plates. "It's none of my business," she said hesitantly, "but I know it upset you when Dean got hot with you the other day. I'm sure he wouldn't have spoken to you like that if he'd had a minute or two to get used to the idea of Harry walking out so ... so selfishly. You couldn't possibly have acted as he suggested you should."

"If the positions had been reversed," he said, "Dean would have done it. That's the sort of man he is, but I don't happen to have the masterful approach." His smile was wry. "He gets positive results and mine are often negative. You can depend on him to do his very best for you, Nell." Hugh, she reflected, as she said good night to him outside the bungalow, was one of the chief reasons why Gwantan was so different. Before, he had seemed to be an integral part of the place, serene and dependable. The cleavage between himself and Dean, however, had dislodged his serenity, and though he was probably still as dependable as ever he hadn't encouraged her confidences. She walked round to the back door and found it locked. Dean always secured it every night before he went over to his bedroom, but he hadn't gone yet; there was still a light in the living-room. She hadn't meant to enter that way, but there was no alternative. Quietly, she mounted the steps. The wire screen was unlatched, so she pulled it back, gave the merest rustle of finger-tips on the door and went in. Dean looked round from the desk, pushed back his chair and asked, somewhat curtly: "Where have you been? I thought you were in bed." She closed the door. "I went over to see Hugh in the workroom. It's Saturday, after all." "So it is." He scooped the papers together and got up. Bending to open the door of the cabinet he added: "You're getting through rather well, Helen. In fact, you've shown a completely mature acceptance of the inevitable. I hope it's not merely an armour." "In part it's bound to be," she said. "It's ... not so very long, is it?"

He set bottles and glasses on the table. "We did say we'd look into the future during the week-end," he commented casually, "and now is as good a time as any. Sherry—or a real drink?" "Sherry will do." She sat down suddenly, on one of the straightbacked chairs at the table. "When does the freighter come, Dean?" "On Tuesday or Wednesday. Why? Have you decided to run out on us?" "I'm wholly dependent on you, of course," she answered, very quietly. "Does it hurt—being dependent on me?" "No." "Would it hurt to go on being dependent on me?" "No," she replied again, honestly. "But you've done so much for me, and I haven't the right to expect more. In any case ..." "Supposing you had the right," he put in, evenly. She looked up, then. "But how could I? There are limits to friendship, particularly friendship between a girl and a . . . man. I feel badly enough about talking your house away from you for a week or so." The brief silence had an indefinable quality; Nell's skin prickled. "Do you?" Then he said deliberately: "We're getting married, Helen—you and I." Her hand shook, violently, and she swiftly placed her glass on the table. Her mouth compressed, and colour came up into her cheeks.

"That's a . . . queer sort of joke," she managed. "Do you expect me to cap it?" He set his glass down a foot away from hers and stood back, his hands in his pockets. The blue eyes were dark and shrewd, but his mouth smiled. "I'm the last person who'd consider marriage a joke— you should know that. And I seldom act in haste, so you can be quite sure there's nothing you can mention that I haven't already thought over." A pause. "You like me a little, don't you?" Her heart lurched, crazily, but her brain still worked. "Of course I like you. But marriage takes more—on both sides. You don't marry someone just because she's alone, and broke." Her voice quivered. "Pity's a poor substitute for love." "I agree," he said calmly. "I don't pity you, Helen." Her throat hurt. "Then what is it?" she flashed. "A backhanded revenge on Imogen? I'm grateful to you, Dean, but I won't be used!" "My dear child," he said coolly, "you're leaping to fantastic conclusions, which proves that you're not yet ready for marriage. But it so happens that it's now you need shelter and protection. Neither you nor anyone else could persuade me to send you down the river with only men aboard, and it will be several weeks before I'm able to accompany you. On the other hand, you can't stay on here without all three of us being—to put it mildly—misunderstood. I need a wife— and God knows you need a husband!" She jumped up, hands clenched at her sides. "Why didn't you leave me at Kahpeng! It would have been kinder, much kinder." "Police officers are men, you know," he reminded her. "Besides, I could no more have left you than you wanted me to leave you."

He looked grimly patient, waiting her response. Her head, bright in the lamplight, bent slightly, and the silence expanded, measured by the ticking of the clock on the desk. She became aware of the quality of indomitable strength in him, the quiet throbbing vitality which had sustained her through those night hours in Kahpeng. "We don't know each other awfully well," she said in a whisper, "and you're not in love with me." "We first met two years ago, and neither of us has changed overmuch. As for the other—I'll probably be able to give you as much love as you can handle, and no woman should be so unwise as to ask for more. After all, the principal desire in marriage should be for each to make the other happy." Her head lifted. "Do you think I could do that—make you happy?" He smiled, without the twist of cynicism. "You're full of potential happiness for yourself and others. I don't see why we shouldn't be entirely happy—both of us." He drained his glass. "Sleep on it, Helen, and we'll talk again in the morning. Good night." He strode out so quickly, snicking up the lock as he went, that it was an effort for Nell to adjust herself to being alone with the problem in Dean's house. As she took the glasses along to the kitchen she swayed a little, and washing them she broke one. Automatically, she disposed of the pieces and turned off the lamp. In her bedroom she sat down heavily in the wicker chair. Her hands were damp, and so was the hair at her temples. The stillness of the clearing in the bush was overwhelming. She would have liked to scream and bang her fists, knock sanity into a world gone suddenly mad . . . and very sweet. Marry Dean? Live here with him as his wife? Had she the strength in her to refuse? But why refuse? Why not run to him with a brimming

heart and say all the silly, lovely things she felt, resting at last in his arms! To all of which there was but one answer. Dean's feeling for her, such as it was, had no relation to the tender passions that she was beginning to realise existed within herself. He had admitted that he had worked it all out; he was capable of looking far into the future when she would have the full maturity he desired in a woman, and apparently he was willing to wait for it. For of course, she told herself despairingly, she had nothing to offer him now that he really wanted. Her thoughts were jarred by a memory. Had her shot about Imogen hit the truth? He hadn't retaliated, but why should he? He hadn't loved Imogen enough to go after her, but quite certainly she had jolted his ego, which meant that the relationship between them had reached some degree of intimacy. No, that was guesswork, and it brought her no nearer to a sane reason why Dean Millard should want to marry Nell Patmore. Oddly, she recalled Hugh's reserved comments when they were examining the plates, his final, "You can depend on him to do his very best for you, Nell." Had Hugh known or sensed this situation? Dean would never have told him, but there might have been some outward sign of his intentions. And Hugh had no doubt that she would accept! Nell shivered. Hugh's seal of approval made the matter tangible and real. It admitted the possibility that Dean loved Nell in his fashion, that he wasn't moved only by pity and expediency. With all her heart she wanted to believe that. Nell hardly slept that night. The darkness was shadowy and grotesque, mosquitoes clung thickly to the outside of her net and before it was light she got up to spray them. Her emotions were

muddled and her head ached, and she was sure she had dreamt last night's interview with Dean. Dawn came in a pearly mist. Still in her pyjamas she went to the living-room window and tried to discern the outline of the other building. Rivers of moisture ran down the outside of the window, and she opened it to breathe the cool wet air. And there, only a couple of yards away, was Dean. He had been strolling and smoking an early cigarette, and the sound of the opening window had halted him. He took the couple of paces. "Good morning, Helen." His smile, as he took in the tousled hair and gay crumpled pyjamas, was cool and mocking. "I didn't have much sleep, either." Her mouth was dry. "Dean, you did ask me to marry you last night, didn't you?" "No," he said. "I told you we were getting married." "But you persuaded me to think it over." "You're woolly, my sweet. I told you to sleep on it, but I'm not sure it was good advice, to one like you." He dropped the cigarette and trod on it; his glance had a slight edge to it. "What have you been doing— imagining yourself at my mercy? You've nothing to be afraid of, Helen. The last thing I'd ever attempt is to make love to a woman who hadn't shown at least a modest desire for it. Now close the window till the sun is up. I'm going down the river, but I shall be back for lunch. So long."

It was a quiet, tedious morning. Nell's mood alternated between wild and tremulous expectation and dark despair. At one moment she was

resolved to tell Dean outright that she loved him; in the next, she could see the pull of derision at his mouth, the worldly question in his eyes. He knew so much about this relationship between a man and a woman, and he had the good-natured contempt of the experienced for the unfledged. When he came in for lunch she was pale and deflated, in a mood to accept, fatalistically, anything he might arrange. He was urbane, if covertly watchful, gave her a lime soda with a dash of gin and mixed whisky and water for himself. It was he who served the cold tinned tongue, the minute tomatoes and succulent bamboo tips, but he made no comment about her lack of appetite. He peeled a banana and a tiny tangerine and set them on her fruit plate, and he poured the coffee before they had quite finished eating. He saw to it that there were no awkward pauses. He was helping himself to sugar as he said smoothly, "I've fixed everything. The missionary has promised to come here tomorrow. He's bringing his wife, so she and Hugh can be witnesses. It'll be very simple." "Who is the . . . missionary?" "A man named Ellis. He gives an open-air service down near the other plantation on Sunday mornings, and I got there in time to attend it. Afterwards, I spoke to him. He said he'd be delighted to tie the knot" "Can it be done as . . . as quickly as that?" "Even quicker, in places like this. He didn't quibble about your age, either, though I had that worked out before I went." "It seems that you have everything worked out."

"That's the man's privilege," he said, cool and pleasant. Low-voiced, she answered, "I won't be much credit to you, as a wife." "Don't be an idiot Everyone who meets you will envy me. I looked in on the traders and told them to send up enough dresses to last until we move down to Singapore in two or three months' time." "Dean," she moistened her lips, "have you thought beyond that? Will I ... will you . . ." He pushed aside the cup and reached for her hand. Holding it firmly between both of his he looked into her face and said, "You don't seem to get the hang of it all. You're peaky and keyed up, chiefly because you won't believe the plain truth that I'm very fond of you and wouldn't for the world let you come to harm. Doesn't it help to know that this is the first time in my life that I've ever considered marrying?" A liquid brightness sprang in her eyes and her mouth trembled into a smile. "I'm sorry, Dean. It's just that . . . well, the suddenness is a bit frightening. I can't think beyond Gwantan." "I haven't thought much about it myself. Maybe we'll decide on a honeymoon." Her cheeks went pink. "I'll try so hard not to disappoint you." He lifted the hand between his and kissed it. "Just be yourself Helen. I'll do the rest." Gradually, during the remainder of that day, she relaxed, and that night she slept quite heavily. She awoke late next morning to find the mist gone and Tai, the houseboy, grinning as he placed a tray on the bedside table. Dean's told him, she thought; and was suddenly happy.

But only by degrees did she realise the extent of Dean's thoughtfulness. First there were the flowers in the living-room, pink-centred camellias which he must somehow have procured during his trip down-river yesterday. Then she found her dress laid across a chair, soft white lace over a silk underskirt, the bodice tight and plain, like the little cap which matched it. There was no guessing at where the dress had come from till a Malay girl brought a posy of fresh blue flowers for the waist, and shyly asked if the garment was a good fit; she had worked hard on it for two days and made it just as the tuan had ordered. Two days? thought Nell. How sure of himself he'd been! The missionary and his wife arrived. From the window Nell saw them conducted into the other building. She got into the dress and knew she had never been prettier. Almost beautiful! Even her hair had decided to be feminine. Hugh came, and she stood before him, a dream in white that looked tender and appealing. He smiled, but gave no clue to what he was thinking. "There was never a lovelier bride, and the pity is that there'll be so few to see you. Dean's a lucky man." "Do we have to go now?" "Don't be scared. Ellis and his wife are nice people, but I expect you'll be glad to hear that they have to leave immediately after the ceremony. Dean's waiting." She stepped into new white sandals, her fingers trembled in the crook of his arm. A few minutes later she entered the workroom, one end of which had been converted into a bower of greenery and jungle flowers. Dean turned to meet her, tall and wide-shouldered in a tropical lounge suit, his hair very thick and dark in the muted golden

light. He smiled and took her hand, drew her with him till they both stood in front of the missionary. And there they made their vows. Afterwards, Nell could never clearly remember that morning. The missionary and his wife had shaken her hand and called her Mrs. Millard. They had accepted a little wine, the fee and a donation towards their work, and gone back to the boat. Hugh had come to the bungalow to drink a toast, but he hadn't stayed long; the stiffness still existed between the two men, though Dean was suave about it. Then she had been alone with Dean, and horribly shy. She had thanked him for the outfit and the flowers, and he'd said, very evenly, that he'd had to make the wedding as normal as possible, for her sake. Perhaps she'd like to run along now, and change the dress? He hadn't known how she was tensed for the kiss that must surely come. Later, Nell knew that it was in the moment when he had bidden her "run along" that she had become bitterly aware that Dean's fondness for her had no relation to love. They lunched together, but it was not a celebration. When the table was cleared he told her that he wished her to form the habit of resting for an hour or two at this time of the day, and then he went out into the plantation. She had dinner with Dean, watched him go to his desk and wondered, sinkingly, whether he expected her to obliterate herself, as usual. But he turned from the desk and gave her a cigarette. "I'll have to order up for you a supply of books and some new gramophone records," he said. "Thank heaven I don't have to worry about getting you acclimatised and used to monotony." "Aren't you going to work to-night?"

"The report is practically complete, but I'd like to keep a copy of it. Think you could write it out for me? It's long." "I'd love to do it." "I'll get you going on it to-morrow. We might have some of the old music now." He put on a Beethoven sonata and they lay back in their chairs, listening. A Malay came to the door and Dean spoke to him, shrugging as he came back to his chair. "Hugh's a fool to be always at their beck and call," he said. "The minute he goes away they're groping." "Where has he gone?" she asked. "Fishing," he answered laconically. "He's taken a canoe, a boy and a sleeping bag and won't be back till Friday. Delicate of him, if somewhat unnecessary." Her eyes, puzzled and wounded, avoided his. "He didn't say goodbye." "No, he merely effaced himself, to give us that privacy which is supposed to be so necessary immediately after marriage." There was nothing whatever she could reply to this. She could hear her heart beating as she waited for his next remark. "By the way," he said, carelessly flicking ash into the little china bowl, "would you rather remain in the room you have? Mine is larger and I don't mind changing, but you may prefer the familiar one." "Yes. Yes, I do . . . thanks."

The music ended and he turned the record. Presently, as a nocturne died away, he got up and closed the gramophone. "You must be tired," he said. "You'd better go to bed. I'll take a walk." "Can't I please go with you?" she begged forlornly. "I don't think so, Helen," he replied offhandedly. "Just go to bed like a good girl. Good night." Mechanically, she obeyed him. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, got into pyjamas which had been washed and ironed since this morning, and slid between her sheets. It seemed a very long time before Dean came back. Wide-eyed in the darkness she listened to his movements, heard him go into his room and rattle up the bamboo blind. After a while there was no human sound at all except her own breathing. From outside came the shrill music of the cicadas, the gentle gossiping of palms in the night breeze. The night was velvet soft, glinting with stars, enchantingly and elusively perfumed. Nell swallowed on the harshness in her throat and closed her eyes. When at last she lost consciousness her hands were together, high on her chest, the right palm tightly covering the bright new band of gold.

The freighter put in early on Wednesday. As well as food and hardware supplies, it brought two bolts of silk from a new stock the skipper had delivered only yesterday to the traders down-river. They had requested him to bring a selected couple of bales to Mr. Millard. Nell cut what she needed for new underwear, but Dean said she must keep both rolls of silk. They were pretty and of better quality than

usually came inland; besides, she had to get a stock of clothing, and the sewing would be a solid job of work always on hand when she had nothing else to do. Living with Dean was not such an awkwardly painful thing as she had thought it surely must be, that first evening. For one thing, he was very intent upon the report on the three plantations which was to be handed to his successor during the week-end. Each evening after dinner he went through a few pages of it, and the next morning Nell put in a couple of hours at copying, in her small neat hand, the yearly expenses and returns, the details of planting, of disease which had now been eradicated, of labour problems and improvements. She learned that some of the latex was processed in different ways before coagulation to bring higher prices in a specialised market, that Nash, who ran the third plantation, had only shown a profit during the last few years, since he had been linked with Gwantan, and that the plantation down-river, though the smallest, was actually the best of the three, because it was compact and easy to manage. Once, when Dean described how he had bought land and cleared and planted, she thought she detected a hint of nostalgia in his tone. "You're selling out, but you don't really want to," she said impulsively. "Isn't there still time to draw back?" "No, and I wouldn't if there were. I'm beginning to realise it's been a monotonous grind. Leaving Gwantan will give you something to look forward to." She couldn't explain that she was afraid to look forward, that here with him and the rubber she felt secure; that at the moment all she could wish for was to have the present extended into the future, without limits. Instinctively, she knew that when their outward circumstances changed there must also come an upheaval in their

way of living; it was something to anticipate with excitement and dread, particularly dread. During that week, Nell wrote her letters to England. Her aunts would not be surprised she had married; they would shrug and mention that she was very much her father's daughter. She wrote a note to Lisa, and tore it up. Lisa was difficult, capable of being both understanding and contemptuous. And if she were not contemptuous she would understand only too well; which would be unbearable. She was down by the river when Hugh returned on Friday. He gave her a weary smile as she turned to walk with him back to the clearing, but he avoided looking at her closely. "Did you catch many fish?" she asked! "Only enough for a meal a day. One needs a companion on that kind of trip." "I thought you said you were going on leave soon." "I'll take a month in Singapore as soon as it can be arranged." "I believe some of your boys have been in trouble. One of them came to me an hour ago, and I gave them permission to open the workroom and sweep it out, ready for you." "Thanks." He paused. "I don't think you'd better come over to the workroom again. Dean wouldn't like it." "He wouldn't mind," she said warmly. "He knows I'm interested in the pottery class." "I still think you'd better stay away, Nell."

She was silent with hurt. In the clearing they parted and she went indoors. Lunch was ready, and Dean came from the bathroom in a clean shirt and with the dark hair sleeked back from the bronze temples. "Hugh is back," she said quietly. "Is there something wrong between you?" "Not wrong, little one," he replied carelessly, his blue eyes shrewd. "Hugh doesn't entirely approve of our marriage. He thinks, as you did, that I had a passion for Imogen which, frustrated, has made me turn to you, and so take it out on the sex." "Did he have . . . grounds for thinking that?" "I don't know, Helen, and I certainly don't intend to start a discussion on so pointless a topic." "You were such good friends." "As far as I'm concerned nothing is altered." His voice hardened. "Keep away from the workroom, Helen. You and he can't possibly have much in common, anyway, and I won't have him feeling sorry for you." "But why on earth should he?" she asked, astounded. His eyes glittered a little, with malice. "Hugh has never been able to keep anything of his own, but I happen to be possessive, and he knows it." He pulled her chair from the table. "Let's eat, shall we? I have to get out early and go down-river with the wages." Talk was conventional till he was ready to leave. Then, he resolved a problem which had been fretting her for days.

"Don't worry about this man who's coming to-morrow. He'll sleep in the spare room over the way, and as he'll only be here for two evenings, we'll merely have to have him twice for dinner." "Do I have to . . . to prepare in any way?" "Yourself, you mean?" He appraised her, narrow-eyed; smiled. "I was going to say you could put on a year or two by using more makeup, but what the hell! I like you the way you are. I'll see what the traders have in the way of ear-rings. They should help." Tremulously she' said, "Dean, do you wish I were older?" His smile faded a little, became set. "What's the good of wishing for the impossible?" "I'll soon be nineteen." "Fine. That's almost senile." He hesitated. "Once you're adult it's not the number of years that matters, my child; it's the kind of things you've packed into them, and what you're capable of in the way of . . . reactions and emotions." He went to the desk and picked up the leather wage bag, gave her an oblique glance and moved towards the door. "Don't try to learn it all in one go, Helen, and don't examine your feelings too much. When you're in doubt, we'll talk it over sensibly. Agreed?" She nodded, gratefully, and went out with him to where the big tourer was parked under a tree. She wished he had asked her to go with him. She had had so few car rides in Malaya, none at all with Dean. "I expect you're glad to have plenty of petrol," she said tentatively.

"Yes, but we'll go carefully with it for a bit. I always prefer to take the money by road. Go along in out of the sun and have your rest." She didn't move at once, and he grinned and bent towards her. His lips touched her forehead and he gave her a little push. Her heart beat fast and she glowed. How absurd to wallow in doubts. Everything would soon come right; Dean would see to that. She was sure of it!

CHAPTER IX THE visit of Mr. Barnard, who was to be the new general director of the Gwantan Estates, passed uneventfully. Dean drove him along the miles of road which cut across and surrounded the plantation, he showed him the nurseries, the sheds, the plant and work-in-progress. Dean cut samples from the bales of latex, and went through his report item by item. It was arranged that a new young manager be put into the plantation down river without delay, and Dean would pay his salary until the sale was completed. Perhaps it was because he was so preoccupied with details absorbed and yet to be learned that Mr. Barnard accepted Nell so calmly. True, when she came upon the two men in the living-room just before dinner, he stared with some wonderment at the slight figure in striped silk, and stammered something to the effect of not having known Dean was married. He didn't quite grow used to having her there, either, and once or twice during the evening she caught his confused glance. But on the whole he was incurious, though when he said good night he told Nell that a wife made the dickens of a difference in these places; he was hoping to have his own wife back from a holiday in England in about four months' time. He left Gwantan by-road late on Monday afternoon, expecting to spend the night with Nash, and drive on the next day to Kuala Lumpur, where his company had their headquarters. Life at the clearing settled into its routine until the morning when a boy brought her a packet which, he said, had just come by canoe from Kahpeng. Nell turned the bulky manilla envelope in her hands, and read Hartley's note on the outside of it: "The enclosed mail arrived a couple of days ago. All the best." Slowly, she went back to the bungalow. She dropped the package on to the table and walked across to the desk for Dean's paper knife.

This, she thought, was one of those painful details that inevitably followed the loss of someone near; the opening of correspondence penned while life was still brimming, and later the answering of those letters. She slit the big envelope and shook out the contents. There was an account from a gunsmith, two private letters, the notification that her father's last month's salary was now at the bank, and a further envelope addressed to Nell herself. This last was mystifying, because it had come from Singapore and was certainly not in Lisa's square script. The handwriting was small and heavy, a masculine scribble addressed to Miss Helen Patmore. Nell ripped the envelope, saw Harry Millard's signature, and recalled with a small shock that he was now her brother-in-law. "Darling little Nell," he wrote. "By now you will have heard that while Dean was away, escorting you to Kahpeng, I arrived at Gwantan in a borrowed motor boat and carried off Imogen and Lisa. Well, I'm sober now, and I wish to heaven I hadn't let the whisky and my anger get the better of me, because I seem to have burnt my bridges and cut myself off from you. Perhaps you can imagine how I felt that evening. I'd come specifically to see you, only to find that Dean had taken you away to your father. Selwyn did explain that you had to go, but at the time all I could see was Dean's highhandedness, so I did what I felt would stab him hardest. I'd like to twist the knife a little, and show him Imogen in Singapore; she's goofy over a chap who's in hospital here, and he's not a quarter the man that Dean is. "I had to write to you, honey, because some time soon I shall be leaving Malaya and there's nothing I want more than to take you with me. Once the sale of the plantations is through I shan't be badly off, and I'm planning to kick around for a while, seeing some of the sights of the South Seas. You'd love it, Nell—and I'd love to teach you all those things which you, in your sweet innocence, know nothing whatever about. I'd marry you first, of course!

"So what about it, Nell? Will you come to me in Singapore and go roaming with me? I swear I'll give you a wonderful time, and even settle down with you afterwards. Don't consult anyone—just act as your heart directs. All my love. Harry." It took Nell several minutes to get the hang of the letter, but when she did she saw with perfect clarity what had been happening to Harry. After the conference at which it had been decided to sell the Gwantan Estates, he had gone back to his plantation and thought over his changed circumstances. His promise to stay on as manager was unimportant and could be revoked; the main point was that he would soon have money, and money was no good without freedom. A day or two later he had "celebrated" with the traders, worked up a brazen courage and come along to tell Dean that he was clearing out. But Dean hadn't been there, so instead, he had conceived the notion of snatching away the woman Dean had warned him to leave alone. Was she supposed to answer this epistle? It was dated eight days ago from an exclusive club, and he wouldn't expect a reply for about three weeks. Before then, he would have heard through some other channel of her marriage. No, she couldn't answer it; not yet, anyway. She twisted to look once more through the door, and her heart turned. Swiftly, she crumpled letter and envelope into the pocket of her dress, and when Dean came in she was slitting another envelope, one which had borne her father's name. "Mail?" he queried. "Who brought it?" "It's my father's. They sent it down from Kahpeng." "Oh." He dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and came behind her to look over her shoulder. "I shouldn't read it, Helen. Just take the name and address, and send a brief note. No sense in harrowing yourself."

"This is from an old chap my father used to like very much. He's a retired colonel and he has an animal sanctuary up in the hills. He cares for lame things—my father always left wounded baby animals with him." She folded the sheet of notepaper, and added quietly, "I suppose there'll be a new game-warden." "You can't look back. There'll be new people at Gwantan, too, and the new manager for the other plantation will be here in a few days. As a matter of fact, I came in to see whether you'd like to have an early lunch and go down there with me. I haven't been into the house since Harry left it, and it may be a shambles." She knew, fleetingly, that she should have shown Dean the letter from his brother. But his mood was kind and without satire, and such moods were too rare to spoil one now. Besides, this was the first time he had invited her to go down- river with him. She jumped up. "I'd love to go with you. Please use the car!" He looked amused. "Why?" She coloured slightly, and smiled. "There's something nice about the intimacy of a car, and I've never been in one with you. Shall I get the lunch now?" "Tell Tai to get it." "No, I'd rather do it myself, for once. I like to feel I belong." "If it has that effect, go ahead. You certainly do belong." He didn't say it quite as she would have liked to hear it, but Nell was not in a brooding frame of mind. She was learning, very quickly, to be grateful for every crumb of comfort.

An hour later they were speeding along a dusty red track between rubber trees. On the open road the heat would have been intolerable, but the sun had now moved on from its zenith and was shut off by the high green growth. Far ahead , on the long straight road a breeze created eddies of dust. "It was like this just before the monsoons last year," Nell commented contentedly. "Do you think it means they'll be early this year?" "I hope not. I was planning to get away before they get into their stride." He gave her a sideways glance. "You're a funny child, Helen. Some things—such as monsoons—don't frighten you at all, do they?" "They're ordinary physical dangers. All the women out here have to live through them. I used to find the rains exciting at the beginning, and then boring. The first year I was at Kahpeng, houseboats were thrown up on the river bank and we had to care for the families in the kampong. Three babies were born in one week. We had our hands full." "You and who else?" he asked tersely. "The Malay wives." She laughed a little. "They were all older than I and much more experienced in such things, but because I was white they automatically put me in charge. I loved it." "I'm sure you did." He sounded ironical. "I daresay what you knew about nursing could have been written on the back of an envelope." "Not at all," she declared warmly. "We had biology and a nursing class at school, and I used to get top marks." She paused, and added casually, "As a matter of fact, if things had turned out differently I might have tried to link up with Lisa at a medical mission for a year or two."

"God forbid," he said quietly. "Those jobs are killing for a woman, unless she happens to be married to the doctor." "There's nothing wrong with Lisa." "No? I wouldn't like to have the task of softening her up." "Yet I believe it would take someone like you to do it," she said thoughtfully. "Lisa's trouble is that on the whole she despises other people, particularly men who are easy to hurt." "By that, I take it, you mean that I'm not easily hurt. Maybe you're right." To this abrupt observation he added, "The secret of remaining unhurt by others is never to become too closely involved with them." "I suppose it is, but you miss a great deal that way." "A little, not a great deal. For the most part you keep emotionally intact. Squandering the emotions is definitely wearing, and normal friendship doesn't really call for it. In my opinion," he ended deliberately, "the man and wife relationship gives plenty of scope for the feelings; they shouldn't need any other outlet." This was dangerous ground, and instinctively she skirted it. "People like Lisa are self-sufficient. Hugh Selwyn isn't, though." His tone became sarcastic. "What can you possibly know about a man of his age? I'd say he's as self-sufficient as most of us." "He happens also to be sensitive." For a minute or so Dean said nothing. He drove on, taking a rightangle turn into a road which bounded the estate. To the right of the road the jungle stretched, a thick barrier of banana and coco palms with here and there a giant reaching to the heavens.

"I daresay," he commented, "that a man becomes sensitive when his marriage turns into a tragedy. On the other hand, the sensitive occasionally see heartbreak where it doesn't exist. I shouldn't worry too much about Hugh, if I were you. He had his chance." Inwardly, Nell winced. Dean could be so calm and heartless; he was like this land in the quiet season—ruthlessly pursuing its way of growth towards culmination. But he was human, and therefore less calculable than the jungle and the elements. At one minute one could feel almost ideally happy with him—not quite, because always in the background lurked the restlessness of uncertainty—and the next would bring the despair of disillusion. Sometimes she felt he didn't want her to understand him, that he would have ridiculed any attempt she might make towards a closer bond; and there were moments when, smiling at her, he yet seemed to be balanced precariously on the rim of a dark mood. The house which had been Harry's for four years already looked derelict. Two windows were broken, and the palm- frond thatch looked as though it had been badly gnawed at one corner. On the beaten earth path the grass grew high and a yellow vineweed crept among it. Lack of rain did not stop growth in these places; neglect any spot for a week and that green blanket stole over it. Dean unlocked the door and pushed it wide. The living- room smelled of must and decay, patches of fungus stood out from the walls and a film of red dust covered every visible surface. "I should have got down to this before," Dean said, vexed. "I wonder what happened to the servant?" "I expect Harry paid him off." "He wouldn't have done that, because when he left this place he didn't know he was leaving almost at once for good."

"No, but . . ." She stopped suddenly, aware that in the next breath she would have revealed a knowledge he hadn't realised she possessed. She felt him staring at her, and said hurriedly, "I suppose the servant just went back to his people." He nodded, and went on into the bedroom. Harry's clothes hung in the cupboard. There weren't many of them and none of them would have been any use out of the tropics, but all were spoiled by great rings of mildew and a cobwebby stickiness which had been woven by some insect. The bed, covered by a striped weave counterpane, still bore an impression of his body; he must have lain there for an hour after the heady lunch. The kitchen was in the worst condition. The door of the food cupboard stood ajar and the floor was scattered with shreds of paper, splinters of wood and odds and ends of food which were crawling with ants. Inside, the cupboard was a ruin. Packets and tips lay on their sides, their contents gone; the shelves were littered with discarded crumbs and scraps of wrapping paper. Ants were everywhere, but it was not they who had caused the dreadful smell. "Rats," said Dean. "The place must be aired and the broken windows covered. I'll go up to the servants' quarters, and if there's no one about I must get someone from the village. Go back and sit in the car, Helen." Nell knew that if she started to clean up the place Dean would be angry, yet it was the sort of task she would have liked. The house was small, square and convenient. It had only one bedroom, but with patience and a little ingenuity the place could have been made neat and cosy. The smell was by far the worst thing to bear, but though such odours have a habit of clinging even that could be remedied in time.

The clearing was small, but it was on the side of the road which ran inland round the plantation, and down to the river in the other direction. Sitting in the car, Nell could see the river and the warehouse of the traders. She guessed that out of sight to the left was the usual array of bamboo houses on stilts, houseboats, canoes and rickety landing stage. Because of the traders, this was quite a busy spot. Canoes put in from other villages, and white men often came or sent for their supplies. Harry hadn't been so cut off as most planters were. Dean was gone about twenty minutes, but he returned with two boys, one of them apparently the houseboy who had worked for Harry. They were given their instructions and trusted with the key. Dean came to the car and switched on the ignition. "I'd better get some new curtains made; batik will do, I suppose. And the man had better have new bed and table linen." He reversed the car. "Freshened up and with plenty of polish it won't be so bad." Nell looked back. "There are six windows. May I make the curtains?" "Why should you—for a stranger?" "It's not just for him. A house like that is a challenge." He swung the car towards home. "I daresay it seems to you that I persistently turn down every plea you make, but it isn't intentional. In this case, I simply don't care for the idea of your feminine touches in that house. The chap who's coming won't even be my employee for long, and I'm damned if I want to leave anything of ourselves behind us. I believe in cutting clean." "I wouldn't have any feeling about half a dozen pairs of curtains."

"You might not stop at curtains. No, we'll keep it impersonal. Ask me for something else." His smile was encouraging, so she said, "Well, we haven't once had Hugh to dinner. May we—to-night?" He hesitated. "Fair enough. I'll invite him myself." Thereafter, his talk was of the kind of crops one could grow in Malaya if less of the soil were given over to rubber and rice; and when that subject had run out he told her about his first visit to the Far East, when he had stayed at the famous Raffles Hotel in Singapore and watched others go pale and limp while he himself felt no ill effects from the climate at all. "I believe you're the same, Helen—impervious to heat and the pests that go with it. But we won't try our luck too far; in the tropics the cracking point comes earlier in women than it does in men." It was heaven to hear him bracket the two of them, to know that he never contemplated the future without considering her. No married man, of course, ever did look ahead without seeing his wife in the picture, but Nell had to admit, forlornly, that she still could not regard Dean as a man with a wife. It was strange and cruel, but irrefutably a fact, that the marriage, so far, had been a mockery. He remained the lone eagle, aloof, a little tantalising, very much in command but always from a distance. He would change; she was sure of it. There would come a spiritual point beyond which neither of them would be able to travel without the other. Perhaps he would look at her one day and suddenly find himself in love with her; that was how it sometimes happened. Witness the case of her cousin in England who had known the boy along the avenue from childhood and only fallen in love with him at

the age of twenty! Yes, she had to believe that Dean would love her, or life was not going to be worth pursuing. She looked at him, saw the lean jaw, the longish bony nose, the firm, well-cut mouth. .Her own jaw went tight. She loved him so much, and he must love her. He must!

Nell was alone in the living-room when Hugh came to the bungalow that evening. Because it was a special occasion—the first time she had acted hostess to him—she wore one of the new dresses sent up by the traders. It was rose pink with a white collar that finished in stiff points at the shoulders. The light streaky hair had grown a little, and instead of roughly curling it waved deeply and turned under at her nape; Dean approved of the style, probably because it made her look a little older. Hugh accepted a whisky and soda. "I hear you went down to the other plantation," he said conversationally. "Dean says the house was in a mess." "The boys will soon put it right." She paused. "Have you heard from Harry?" "No, he wouldn't write to me. I don't believe Dean's heard from him, either. He's an ungrateful cub." "He's not so young." There was a question she wanted to put, but she couldn't frame it. So she offered him a cheese straw to help down the drink. Dean came in, exuding that male fragrance which later would be tinctured with smoke, and soon after he had poured his drink Tai announced that he was ready to serve the dinner.

It was a quiet, comradely meal, in spite of that faint constraint which Nell made an effort to dispel from the atmosphere. Analysing the stiffness, she discovered that it was more between Hugh and herself than between Hugh and Dean. Dean was suave, unperturbed. Hugh, she felt, had some sort of compassion for her, and it might be that subconsciously she resented it, as any healthy, spirited person resents pity. Besides, compassion denoted some understanding of her position and inwardly Nell knew a violent aversion from the very possibility. The dinner things were cleared. Intermittently, flying beetles banged against the wire screen door, and presently it was festooned with moths attracted by the light. The occasional dart of a lizard carved a path which was soon crowded over again by night-fliers. The breeze moved between the two windows, cool, slightly damp and marvellously refreshing after the sultry heat of the day. The men smoked and talked desultorily. Nell played a record or two and joined in the conversation whenever it seemed to be expected of her; this was her most normal evening since she had been established at the bungalow. When, at about nine, Hugh said he ought to be going, she suggested that at least he smoke another pipeful. From across the room Dean gave her the narrow-eyed smile which always made her feel uncomfortably exposed, but to-night she smiled back at him, frankly, and watched a change come into those dark blue eyes; a change which sent a thrill along her nerves. Hugh had just tamped down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe when all three of them looked out towards the clearing. The muffled sound of footsteps on the grassy path, a word or two in Malay and a clear voice thanking someone. Dean stood up, and a second later Hugh did, too. "A visitor," said Dean.

"It's Lisa," said Hugh. Nell sat very still. The evenness of' both voices was somehow unreal, particularly as her own throat would not, at that moment, have let out more than a croak. She saw the wire screen opened by Dean, saw him put out a hand to draw Lisa inside. "Good heavens, why didn't you let us know you were coming?" he demanded. "Are you alone?" Lisa nodded, coming further into the room. Her smile was cool as she sought Nell. She wore a tailored suit in thin brown silk. Nell was hypnotised by a row of silver buttons down the front of the jacket, but somehow she got to her feet and contrived a welcoming smile. She swallowed. "Yes, you should have let us know. Did you get dinner?" "Yes. It was frightful, but put me off wanting anything more." "A drink?" from Dean. "Whisky or gin?" Hugh indicated the chair in which he himself had been sitting, and Lisa sank down, dropped her brown hat and bag on to the floor beside her, and stretched her slim legs with a sigh. Once more her glance rested on Nell, but she spoke casually, to all of them. "I didn't let you know because I actually got here quicker than a letter would have done. I didn't enjoy Singapore, and at the mission headquarters they hadn't anything to offer me at once, though they did promise that when the next doctor arrives for Kota Baran I can go with him. So three days ago I decided to come up and see you. I took the plane to Kuala Lumpur and had the luck to meet someone who was driving across country to the river. From where they dropped me it was only two hours by canoe."

"Well done," said Dean. "How long can you stay?" "Indefinitely—my suitcase is in the porch." The darkish brows rose a fraction. "That is, if you can put me up. I hear you and Nell are married. Congratulations." "Thanks," he said, still smiling. "If Nell's grass hut is still standing," said Lisa, "I needn't put you out." "I'll have the hut," put in Hugh, "and you can have my room as you did before. You look well, Lisa." Nell couldn't get the feeling that this was reality. Dean relaxed, watchful and pleasant, Hugh completely unemotional, and Lisa, in her smart new attire, looking somehow sleek and calculating as she gave an unnecessary pat to the dark chestnut hair and settled back with her drink. "Well, how did you leave everyone?" asked Dean. "By everyone, I suppose you mean Imogen and Harry. They both seem to be well and completely happy, but for different reasons. What did you think of us for running out on you?" "I could have strangled you - all three," he responded equably, "though I was told that you yourself went unwillingly." Lisa showed her first sign of softness. "I wouldn't have gone had I known about Nell's father. I'm sorry, Nell—really sorry." "I "got through." Her heart small and cold, she added, "Tell us about Imogen. What is she doing in Singapore?"

Lisa tasted her drink, said, "Nice," and put it down again on the table. "Imogen? Well, as a matter of fact she's engaged to be married." "That was quick work," commented Hugh. Dean said, "Who's the fortunate man?" Nell's nails were digging painfully into her palms; her throat was as hot and dry as if she had been weeping for an hour. What was he thinking and feeling? That he was lucky to have done with Imogen, who had so quickly chosen a mate after leaving Gwantan? Or did pain lurk beneath that urbane mask? "It was all rather curious," Lisa observed. "The morning after we left here we arrived down at the junction in the motor boat that Harry had borrowed. We left the boat there and travelled on by rail and road to the coast. By the time we reached Singapore we'd all had enough of each other, and we split up. Harry took a room at a club, I fixed up at one of the more modest hotels, and Imogen looked up some affluent friends, who took her in. Two days later Imogen telephoned me." Lisa paused. "I don't know if you men were aware of her reason for coming to Malaya?" Hugh shook his head, and Dean said, "She wrapped it in mystery, thereby enhancing her value. What was the reason?" "She was already engaged to be married when she came out here—to a man whom she affectionately calls Binks. Poor Binks had been out here a year, living in an outpost; he'd slipped, clutching a whisky bottle, and when Imogen arrived she found him dithery. She left him, disgusted, and was going home again. That was how she came to Kota Baran. Well, you know the rest—except that in Singapore she met Binks again. It seems that as soon as she had left him he went sick and was shipped down the coast to the hospital at Singapore. There was a bedside reunion, Imogen accepted her ring back, and

they're getting married the day Binks leaves hospital. Touching, isn't it?" "I think," remarked Hugh somewhat dourly, "that she's proved herself genuine." Lisa laughed. "But we know a thing or two more about it, don't we, Nell?" Nell said quietly, stubbornly, "I'm glad she's going to marry her Binks." "So am I." Lisa turned to the men. "Nell never could see the humour of the situation, but I did. Imogen had some old uncle who was going to give her five thousand as a wedding present and leave her his considerable wealth, so long as she married someone ambitious. The comical part was that she didn't learn about this until she'd flung Binks's ring at him and was going back to England. So she decided on one of you three men." Dean leaned forward, his smile almost gone. "She talked coldbloodedly, like that?" "Of course. Imogen is cold-blooded—Nell called her that. Hugh wouldn't do, she said, because he'd never fall for a glamour girl." "How true," murmured Hugh. "If I could help it, I wouldn't fall at all." She slanted him a swift cool glance. "Quite; she knows her men, you see. Dean was the one she fancied, she used to say regretfully that he was canny and would take his time about proposing. I wonder what she thinks of the whirlwind marriage with Nell?" "And Harry?" asked Dean, ignoring her final query.

"She thought Harry would be easy to handle. That was really why she insisted on going off with him that night. But I went along, and I knew you didn't care for the idea of their getting intimate, so I seldom left them alone. By the time we'd been travelling a couple of days they were having rows. I don't think Harry wanted her; he only wanted you to think he did, because he had an idea that..." she broke off, but went on in a carefully indifferent tone, "he had an idea that your interest in Imogen was more than friendly." Dean stood up and went over to the table near the wall. From a packet he shook cigarettes into his case, and with his back half towards them, he said, "Harry hates Malaya and therefore he dislikes me for bringing him here. Did he send any message?" "Only one for Nell." "What was it?" Lisa hesitated, then shrugged. "He merely said, 'Tell Nell I shall be leaving by plane at the end of the month. I want her to know.'" There was a brief silence. Lisa took a cigarette and lit it at the match Dean held. Nell declined one in a whisper, and Hugh gave another press to the tobacco in the pipe he had been holding, and slipped it into his pocket before standing up. "I'll take the suitcase over the way and have the bed linen changed. After travelling for a couple of days Lisa will need a good night's rest." "Yes, I do. There'll be plenty of time for talking tomorrow." She walked round in front of him, looked back at Nell who sat, sad and defeated, beside the gramophone. For a moment it seemed as if

she must speak from the heart; then she met the clouded green haze, the look of entreaty, and abruptly moved to the doorway. "Good night," she said, weakly for Lisa. "It's quite good to be back." For several minutes after they had gone, there was no sound in the living-room save that made by the whacking of the moths against the wire screen and the lamp-shade. Even the small clock on the desk seemed to have muted its ticking. Dean remained standing between the table and the bookcase, too close for Nell to look up at him without having something definite to say. She felt him shift a little, wished desperately that he would go out for a walk. Anything, to ease the tension. In a moment he would speak; he would say something to show his pain over Imogen, his contempt for a woman who would marry to get money. The trouble was, contempt didn't eradicate love in one blow. And even if he was already cured of whatever it was he had felt for Imogen, there must be an aftermath, the slight bitterness her name would evoke. The very thought of Imogen filled her with a helpless rage which was so sudden that it gave her the courage to look straight upwards. Upwards, into a face which was cold and cynical and eyes dark and glittering as polished cobalt. Steel in his voice, he said, "Don't look at me as if I'm your enemy. I'm not blaming you for anything, and I'm not asking anything of you. Lisa's coming here hasn't changed a thing—nor," on a savage note, "can it change us. Don't start a discussion, Helen; I'm not in the mood for it. Go to bed." And then he did go out. Nell pushed herself upright, bit at her pale lips, and went quickly to her bedroom.

CHAPTER X LISA and Hugh crossed to the other building without speaking. The scene they had left behind disturbed Lisa, but Hugh, looking oddly saturnine, annoyed her. He thought she had set out to do a deliberate piece of wrecking, whereas the truth was that she had simply started giving facts and had to keep on. How could she possibly have guessed that the marriage of nine or ten days was not going as it should? She entered the building with him, waited in the corridor while he went into the living-room and switched on the light. He made some mention of getting hold of the houseboy and passed her, and she went right into the living-room and stood there, looking at the familiar rattan furniture and the chintz. Then automatically, she set a match to the oil lamp and switched off the light to save the current. Hugh came back and she turned round and rested upon the edge of the table, looking at him. "I shouldn't have come," she said. "Don't be absurd." He lowered the wick of the lamp and blew away the smoke which had issued through the top of the shade. "I wish I'd seen you alone first, that's all." Lisa drooped a little. "I might have guessed; in fact, I believe I did have an inkling before I arrived. For one thing, it was you who had to write and tell me about it, whereas it should have been Nell herself. She should have sent me a ravingly happy note, yet it seems that she hasn't written to me at all." She stopped, and let out a breath of exasperation. "Why did Dean marry her?" Hugh flicked a spent match into the ashtray. "In his way he thinks a lot of her. He was really sweet to her when he brought her back from Kahpeng, and no one could have done more to help her over the first

few days. The trouble is," he thrust the ashtray away from him, "she's so damnably in love with him." "Is she?" Lisa was grave and thoughtful. "I knew she was a wee bit smitten before she left that day to go home, but I thought that once he'd left her she'd get over it. Women do fall for his kind, particularly young ones, but normally they're ignored and get over it. D'you suppose he pitied her? Would he marry her from pity?" "He might, on the rebound from Miss Cornell." She banked one white fist into the other hand. "It's not fair to Nell. She was always happy and full of fun, and she deserves to be loved for herself. She has plenty to give, to anyone who wants it." "I know. I've thought all that out myself. How can we be sure Dean doesn't want it?" "You've only to look at Nell's face. Oh, I know she dissembles, and maybe she does it well enough to deceive a man, but she and I were friends long before she came to Gwantan. She's not a babe, Hugh, and she's highly intelligent. She's just not clever enough to handle a man like Dean if he's not in love with her." He sighed, and said awkwardly, "She was grieved over her father's death, and marriage on top of it could have been too much. No one could possibly take better care of her than Dean does." "Care isn't enough." She moved moodily from the table and sat down. "Nell's missed so much in life. No parents to speak of when she most needed them, and then, when she should have been finishing her education, she came out here and buried herself in the jungle. She hasn't had those lovely years that girls do have, around her age, and now it seems that she'll forgo them altogether."

"It'll be different when Dean leaves Gwantan. He'll have time to give her some fun." She gave him a fleeting glance. "I hope so. I wish he weren't so darned unapproachable." "Almost any man is unapproachable about his private affairs. I feel as frustrated about Nell as you do, but she's essentially brave and sensible. Unless something drastic happens between them—and I don't see how it can—it's bound to turn out all right." She lay back a little wearily. "Nell isn't going to be easy to talk to, either," she commented. "She's in the habit of solving her own problems." "Things may look happier to-morrow. I'm very glad you came, anyway." For some time neither spoke. Lisa trailed her arm over the arm of her low chair and felt with sensitive fingers over the plaited grass mat. Her mouth was straight and compressed, the dark grey eyes halfclosed with the concentration of her thoughts. Hugh pulled a dining chair from the table and sank on to it. Presently he said, "I don't suppose you want to talk about Betty tonight, but I would like to know if you saw her." "Yes." She shook her head slightly as if to dislodge cobwebs. "Yes, I saw her. If I hadn't decided to come here I'd have written to you." He waited, but as she seemed disinclined to carry the subject further, observed, "It seems you've nothing to report." "Very little. She's a nice, complacent child. She'll be happy with those Richardsons, wherever they go."

He stood up suddenly. "You didn't take any interest in her at all, did you? You didn't intend to. I'm sorry the matter was ever mentioned between us." She answered him quietly. "A man who will hand over his daughter to a childless couple doesn't want her very much. I realise that the very sight of her might have been painful at that time, but she was all you had and you should have hung on to her with all you've got. If you had to get someone to look after her, why not pay a nurse? It would have cost you no more than paying the Richardsons." "The financial aspect wasn't important. A nurse wouldn't have had the same feeling for her." "Of course not, but she would have kept you in the child's mind as the beloved parent, whereas I doubt very much whether that couple ever mention you. As you told me before, Mrs. Richardson is a sterling woman. Betty looked sweet in a figured muslin dress and her manner to me was charming; she can read quite well and she even swims and knocks about with a tennis racket. Accomplished for a child of seven, and all of it due to Mrs. Richardson." "But what?" he said stiffly. She lifted her slim shoulders. "But Mrs. Richardson didn't do all that for you or for the monthly cheque. She didn't even do it for Betty. I'm not against the woman; don't think that. In her position I might have been as glad as she was to take a motherless child and make it my own." "I still don't see what you're getting at." "My dear man, the woman wanted a child, any child. Her motives in making a good job of Betty have been entirely selfish and she's

succeeded in converting you into the perfect outsider in the child's mind. Did you know that Betty calls the husband Daddy John?" Just perceptibly, he winced. "Yes, I've heard her. It isn't pleasant, but I haven't been in a position to object." He paused. "Did you manage to find out whether she'd rather stay, or go with the Richardsons?" "I didn't try," Lisa answered abruptly. "To be honest, the whole setup makes me rather sick. In any case, it isn't for the child to say. No one can make the decision but you, yourself." She reached to the table for her hat and bag. "Do you think the boy has finished in the bedroom?" "I'll go and see." Lisa got up and stood near the table. She thought of the child, Betty, who had looked so like Hugh across the eyes and forehead that she had laughed to herself ; but the hair was floss-silk, nearly white, and the chin very pointed. Between the chin and the hair it wasn't difficult to build up the face of the child's mother; pretty and appealing. No wonder, she had thought, that for a time Hugh had felt he couldn't have the little girl about him. But with the thought had come a harshness she couldn't help; even now she didn't care to analyse it. He came back. "The room is ready. You'd better lock up at the back after I've gone." "Is it necessary? You'll want to get in for your breakfast." "I'll have something outside, unless you happen to be awake. Don't bother about it" "Very well. Thanks for letting me have your room." Hugh didn't move with her, as she had thought he would. He turned towards the lamp, and said, "We ought to have met about ten years

ago, Lisa. The trouble is that one finds out most things when it's too late." The light dimmed, flickered and went out, and the only illumination came from the corridor. "Good night," he said. She answered him as briefly, and left him.

The sky was sullen next morning. The sun had risen brazenly, cast first a pink glow and then a deep copper haze, after which it had disappeared behind a blanket of thick grey cloud. The humidity was appalling; it opened the pores, so that' even the Malays, who seldom moved quickly, ran with sweat as they cleaned out their houses or prepared to go fishing. Apprehensive for the safety of their decorated oxcart, they built a roof of palm-thatch over it and anchored it to the posts. Lisa put on the lilac linen, had breakfast alone in the living- room and gathered up a parcel she had left on her bedside table. Outside she paused and reflected that the Malayan weather was often the opposite of text-book form; rain in the dry season wasn't at all unusual, and it was especially good because the monsoon fears were absent. At the bungalow she found both the wire screen and the door fastened back. The houseboy was on his knees, polishing and making a whistling noise through his teeth, and to Lisa's inquiry he answered that the mem was in the kitchen. Straight through, please, and the last door. Nell was at the kitchen table, making a sponge jelly. She was pale beneath the ran and the smudges under her eyes made them large, but she smiled at Lisa and laid aside her fork. Lisa noted the dress, a plain blue gingham with a white scalloped collar and brief cuffs above the elbow, a slim waist and full skirt. She saw the gold ring,

heavy for so slender a hand, and reflected that it had probably been obtained by the missionary who had married them. To Lisa, she wasn't Nell at all, but someone older and on the verge of disillusionment. "Hallo," she said brightly, placing the parcel on the table. "I brought you a wedding present, but I'm afraid it isn't much —just a pair of beaten metal candlesticks that seemed to have something a little different about them. Don't open it now." "It's sweet of you, Lisa. Thanks very much. D'you mind if I just finish this? It makes a change at lunch from the boy's routine sweet of fruit in syrup." "No, go ahead. I like to see you so domesticated." She strolled to the long narrow window, and spoke more to keep the atmosphere easy than because she had something worth saying. "Living here must be rather pleasant, and you, of course, have had plenty of practice in running a house. A pity, really, that you're not staying. You've plenty of room for a splendid garden." "Here among the trees everything would grow leggy." "Yes, I suppose so. I liked your little garden at Kahpeng, though I daresay it's becoming overgrown now." Unemotionally, Nell said, "The house was burnt down, you know. We ... I lost everything." "Good heavens," said Lisa soberly, turning round. "You poor child. Surely all this didn't happen at the same time? Losing your father as well as the house?" "No, the house went first, while you and Imogen were here, but Dean decided we wouldn't tell anyone else." She poured the frothing

mixture into a mould and placed it in the paraffin fridge to set. "Let's take your parcel up to the living-room. I'm longing to open it." The houseboy had passed from the living-room into a bedroom, and Nell was able to snip the string from the parcel and study the candlesticks as they stood one each end of the dining-table. Each was a pair of entwined snakes whose mouths formed a double candle holder. Nell admired them and repeated her thanks. "Sit down, Lisa. Would you like some tea?" "It's too hot. If one drinks, one only perspires." She leant back lazily in the nest of cushions, but her glance was keen as she asked, "How do you like married life, Nell?" Nell must have been preparing herself for this question, for she replied without a tremor, even with a small smile. "Very much. Even with a houseboy there's plenty to do." "Why did you get married in such a hurry?" "I probably wouldn't be married now, if you hadn't slipped away with Imogen." Lisa said, "Well, so long as you're both happy . . ." and was silent for a moment. Then: "In a way it was best that Harry took himself off. I didn't tell the whole of it to the men last night, but that journey down to Singapore was truly horrid. Those two could never have married— they were too much alike. When Harry was able to think clearly he was really upset about leaving you behind, and that made him more cantankerous towards Imogen." "I'm glad he'll soon be leaving Malaya." Before, Lisa had never known the desire for constant conversation with Nell; now, the gaps yawned, and she was powerless to disguise

them, or even to slide calmly through a silence. She was quite grateful when Tai came in and held out his hand to Nell. "Find this on floor in mem's bedroom," he said, and stared at her curiously. "Thank you." As the boy withdrew Lisa bent forward to examine the carved square of ivory in Nell's palm. She turned it over with one long finger, and laughed. "Who gave you that?" "One of the native women." "I've seen one of those things before." "Dean says it's some sort of charm." "Wasn't he more explicit' than that?" "No. Do you know what it means?" "The one I saw was similar to this though the carvings weren't quite so good. It belonged to the young wife of a Malay soldier who had her first baby with us at the mission. She told me, believing every word of it, that the charm was to be thanked for the fact that the child was a son. So I presume whoever gave you this was honouring you— because the charm is supposed to work in only the best families. She thought you might like to be sure that your first is a boy " The moment she had finished speaking Lisa regretted her facetious tone. Not that Nell's demeanour changed markedly; it was the weird stillness about her, the set pallor, the brittle smile, which roused a smouldering anger in Lisa.

"I don't know why," she said offhandedly, "but since I arrived last night I don't seem able to say the right thing. You'll have to forgive me if I tread on any toes." "Don't be silly," Nell answered. "Shall we have that tea, after all? Sweating makes one cooler." Lisa stayed at the bungalow an hour. When Dean came in she got up to go, though he tried to persuade her to smoke a cigarette with him. Being with Nell had given her a sinking sensation, but Dean, she thought, would have made her furious. She hated the self-assurance with which he entered the house, his quick appraisal of Nell which missed nothing, though he offered her no kiss, his cool, mocking voice as he puffed on the cigarette and accepted tea from the fresh pot which the boy had hastened to bring in. She knew that his quick eye had taken in the candlesticks and their import, but he didn't say a word about them. He was in something of a hurry, he said; there was some baling of rubber to be done before it rained. Lisa walked rather too quickly to the other building. She was streaming when she got in, but it was good to use a towel and change her dress, and that way she could postpone thinking over someone else's problem. She didn't want to be alone. Impulses were rare in Lisa, but to-day she acted upon one, and turned the handle of the door which led into the workroom. The heavy heat had apparently got into the Malay boys, for most of them lolled upon their benches or leaned against the wall, gossiping desultorily. Hugh was seated at a table, demonstrating the tooling of leather, but when he saw Lisa he got up and made room for her at his side. "All right?" he asked in a low voice. "Of course. Why?"

"You look fed up. Did you come in for some reason, or just to be friendly?" She smiled faintly. "I was beastly to you last night. You forgive and forget, don't you?" "I forgive," he conceded pointedly. "Take a seat while I finish." She found it calming to sit on one of the grass-seated chairs and watch him explain how the leatherwork could be tooled in the boys' own individual style and thereby be worth more. She saw those blunt fingers sketching a heat design of a Malay under a wide hat, which could be copied on to bags and purses and even on to the fronts of leather slippers. She heard him encourage one of the boys who was setting down his own impression of a flower design—jungle orchids and poinsettias— and presently she moved forward to become as absorbed as the rest. When they broke for lunch he told the boys that the workroom would be closed for the rest of the day; they would all work harder when the weather cooled. Then he escorted Lisa back to the living quarters, and left her looking over the dining-table while he washed and changed. It was a restful meal. Apart from mentioning that she had been over to see Nell, she was silent about the bungalow, and Hugh seemed content to talk about the load of glazed pottery he would be sending down the river for sale in one of the big markets. She told him that one seldom heard talk about the bandits in Singapore, and everyone had been amazed by the details of her own escapade. To the big city the terrorists were simply a nuisance that the police and military would clear up. The heat was stifling and oppressive, and when the boy had wheeled away the dishes, Lisa rested in one of the chairs, while Hugh went

elsewhere for his siesta. At four she tidied herself for tea. It still hadn't rained; the purple pall of cloud hung leadenly overhead, dimming the afternoon but no more threatening than it had been all the morning. Hugh, looking through the window while he drank his tea, suggested a short drive. "It's cooler, moving, and we'll come back at the first splash of rain. Coming?" "Yes. It probably won't rain before nightfall, anyway." As he had predicted, the breeze created by the car gave an impression of coolness, and the rubber trees provided a tunnel of darkness to add to it. They were on one of the roads through the rubber trees when he halted the car. "Quiet as a cloister, isn't it?" he commented. "When I was an education officer my house was on the edge of a rubber estate and I used often to walk among the trees and feel I was in England— during the cooler weather, of course. At that time I used to hanker to go back home." "How long ago is it?" "About twelve years. I was twenty-seven or so, but felt horribly young and perpetually annoyed because I kept applying for my release so that I could join the Navy, and didn't get it." "You didn't get into the Navy, did you?" He shook his head. "I went to Cyprus with an army unit. As a matter of fact," casually, "that was when I got married. It was one of those hurried, I-may-never-come-back affairs. There must have been a lot of them during the emergency."

Firmly, but not very loudly, she said, "I'd rather not hear about it, Hugh. It hasn't anything to do with me." "I feel it has. In fact I brought you out here this afternoon for the purpose of telling you about it. It's hellish trying to get these things said in a small room where interruptions are frequent." "A car is smaller," she pointed out steadily. "We have space about us," he replied doggedly. "Ifs no use, Lisa. This had to come, and you have to listen. I'll be trite, and say that it's more painful for me than it is for you." Her teeth closed sharply. "Then why dig it up? Why immerse yourself in memories of the time when you were a young fool and desperately in love? You said last night that I refused to take an interest in your child; that goes for your marriage, too. If I'd been curious about it, I'd have asked you." "I think you are curious about it," he said deliberately, "but you're far too proud to admit it. I'm not proud; I've no reason to be. Ever since my marriage broke up I've known it was as much my fault as hers." "Broke up?" she echoed, her voice oddly dry. "I thought she'd died." "She's dead," he said, "but we parted a year before that." He crossed his arms on the wheel and stared through the windscreen. "We married in a rush, and for two years I hardly saw her. She was in India with her parents. Then I got my discharge and brought her to Malaya—to another little house like the one I was telling you about. But somehow, whatever magic there had been in our relationship had gone. We'd both changed, and we hadn't been together while it was happening. Betty's coming didn't help. I loved the child much more than she did, and that was far more painful to tolerate than you might think. There were other men around; the doctor, a couple of planters,

a man who owned a tin mine and a fair-sized police post, and she used to dress for them and flirt a little. I didn't mind because I knew the life was too monotonous for a woman who had lived as she had— on the shining surface." Low-toned, Lisa said, "She was beautiful, wasn't she?" "Pretty," he answered. "Not beautiful. Betty's like her." "She's like you, too." ' He let out a vexed-sounding breath. "It was because she favoured her mother that I didn't hesitate about letting the Richardsons have her. I felt that a child who looked like her mother might take on her characteristics, and I considered Mrs. Richardson an excellent antidote." "It seems to have worked. She's a model child. Too model." She shrugged. "Well, what came next? Did your wife run away with someone?" He nodded. "It was probably inevitable. He wasn't even one of the local men—just someone loafing about the world and taking a good time where he could find it A few months later they were both drowned in monsoon floods." Lisa looked out of the window. She saw latex dripping slowly from a new incision into the little cup at the base of a trunk, and she saw other trees hung with those tin cups which, at a distance, looked like regular growths all over the forest of rubber. "Does it worry you—talking about her?" "A little, but not for the conventional reasons. I used to blame the separation for my own failure, but lately I've come to the conclusion that I could never really have loved her—or she me. Not even in the

beginning. Perhaps if I'd made the effort when we came together again ..." he broke off. "Poor Betty," said Lisa. "She was certainly better off with the Richardsons." "You were wrong about my not wanting to keep her." "You didn't want hard enough." He put out a hand but drew it back before it touched her. "Don't take it like that, for heaven's sake. You can't possibly understand how I feel about this. In spite of the streak of iron —possibly because of it—you're a very fine person, Lisa, and more than anything I wish I could offer you something that isn't, well . . . secondhand." "Don't," she said sharply. "Please take me back." For a protracted moment Hugh made no move. Then he made a gesture which might have indicated resignation or finality, and started the car.

The rain came that night, but there was not enough of it to clear the sky. The morning light was sulphurous, the sun, blazing through veins in the clouds, promised disintegrating heat, and the river lay turgid, its surface steaming. The Malays had chosen their dancing team, and halfheartedly the dancers practised while those of the villagers who were not working sat around drinking coconut milk and chewing betel. In place of the music which was available in the evenings, a boy sluggishly banged the rhythm on a drum, and the dancers lethargically weaved their graceful hands, lifted their shoulders and strutted. Performed without

the glinting head-dresses, epaulettes and silk suits, the ronggengs were surprisingly unbeautiful. In the clearing the continuous thud of the drum was nerve- wearing. It became part of the burdened sky, the steady drip of moisture from branches, the pitiless heat that trembled on the still air. Nell tried not to hear it, then she tried to accept it as if it were bird-gossip or a breeze. But it was too easy to picture the young men and women in their faded, everyday sarongs, posturing and slanting their heads with regularity and precision. Her temples throbbed. The fine fabric she was sewing clung to her fingers and the cotton was too damp to pull through without leaving marks. Yet she was not really worried by the ominous heat. It had happened before, many times, and had not always been followed by storms. Occasionally a wind sprang up in the night and magically cleared the air ready for a morning that was bright and cool and invigorating. That could happen this time. Her worries were deeper, more obscure. She put down the needlework and went to the window. How was Lisa feeling, over there? Possibly it was no more odd that she hadn't followed up that visit to the bungalow than that Nell had kept within her own walls. But it hurt. These days, everything hurt, and her only course was to hide the sensitiveness behind a mask of indifference. When Dean came in at about six he brought some mail. As usual, it was wrapped in the waterproof folder stencilled with the name of the rubber company, and he dropped the packet on his desk before going off for a bath. As he went from the room she saw the damp limpness of the back of his shirt and she felt an almost ungovernable urge to look out his clean clothes and pour the drink he needed. But she knew how he would look if she did; a smile of mocking malice if he were in good humour, a brusque remark to the effect that he preferred

to pour his own drink if he were not. And she was in no shape to parry a rebuff. Over dinner he was preoccupied, but he told her the baling was going ahead very fast and he hoped it would be finished in time for the labourers to have the day off for the dancing festival. He got up from the table and lit a cigarette for her. Taking a pull at his own, he said: "You look tuckered. Had visitors?" She shook her head. "I've been alone: all day." "What's wrong with Lisa?" "She's probably been resting. I haven't seen her at all." "That's odd. Why didn't you go across?" Nell knocked ash from her cigarette. "I thought she'd come if she wanted company other than Hugh's." "Hugh's been out all day." He paused, then added quite savagely, "I'm beginning to look forward to leaving this damned place!" Nell tensed, waiting for what should come next, but the boy came in to clear the table, and Dean smoked his cigarette and looked through a newspaper. A little later he folded the newspaper and crossed to the desk. "I have to work, I'm afraid. I haven't opened the account books for a week. It's tough on you, Helen, but one good thing about it is that it won't last." "It doesn't matter," she said. "I think I'll go to bed."

She didn't say good night because she took it that, as on other nights, he would click at her door panel as he went past to his own bedroom. She turned up the lamp on her bedside table, chose a book from the dozen in the bookrest, and got into pyjamas. It was too hot to lie in bed and read, so she pegged wide the window, fastened the wire screen over the opening and drew up a chair, to catch as much night air as seeped in. Normally, the book would have been absorbing; to-night, however, her brain refused to take in the printed word. The damp sweet stupefying air combined with her own unhappy restlessness caused a blurring of the vision, and she snapped the book together and closed her eyes. And with the material world shut out her mind turned in upon itself, probing in a way that was new and almost unbearable. She thought of Dean, and what he must want in a woman, and the sense of failure was like a knife turning in the heart. How was it possible to love a man so much, yet be capable of giving so little that he was contemptuous of it? Wouldn't there ever be a sweet intimacy between them, the lovely casualness of a caress in passing, the knowledge that each was incomplete without the other? There came a rap at the door, and it opened. Nell didn't move, but she saw the envelope in his hand, the slight compression of his mouth. "A letter for you among my mail," he said. "It's from Harry." She shivered once, uncontrollably, then steeled herself. "Have you opened it?" "No, but I intend to do so now, if you've no objection." She knew that any objection she might have voiced would have made not a speck of difference, but she nodded. His face, as he read, had told her nothing, but as he folded the sheet of paper he came closer and stood' between her chair and the bed.

"He mentions a previous letter that you didn't answer. Did you receive it?" "Yes," she admitted thinly. "Recently?" "It came down from Kahpeng with my father's mail." "So you actually had it with you the other morning when I came upon you reading that letter from your father's friend?" He hadn't raised his voice but a muscle twitched suddenly in his cheek. "Did you destroy it?" "No, it's . . . it's in the small drawer of the bedside table. I'll get the key." "So you keep it locked up. Is it that valuable—or incriminating?" "It isn't either." Her fingers shook as she fumbled into a jacket pocket and found the key. She turned away from the wardrobe cupboard. "When I received it I thought I ought to reply to it, to tell Harry that my circumstances had . . . changed. Then when Lisa said that he knew all about... us, I thought it no longer necessary." "But you kept it." He took the key from her and opened the drawer, took out the letter she had crushed into her pocket that morning, and smoothed it. "This is rather longer than the other." His glance narrowed, and he read it through. Nell stood before him, straight and small and very pale, in the thin pyjamas. "I wanted to show you the letter, but I was afraid you'd get angry. When Harry wrote it he thought I was back at Kahpeng, and he couldn't possibly have had any notion of what was happening here."

"Don't defend him to me," he said crisply. "Harry always tried his luck and he'll go on doing it because that's the way he gets a kick from life. How far had things gone between you two before he left?" "There was nothing between us, nothing at all!" His eyes were stones with flecks of cold light in them. "Darling little Nell," he said. "Act as your heart directs. According to this," with a vicious flick of his fingernail on the letter, "he must have taken a great deal for granted." "Yes! Just as he took too much for granted the day he kissed me out there in the living-room. I never encouraged him, Dean, never. He'd tell you that himself." "I don't propose to ask him. More important to me is why you hung on to this letter, guarding it in a locked drawer," his teeth snapped, "and sleeping with it there, close to your pillow! By the look of it, you've wept over it a few times." "I don't care how it looks," she flung at him, suddenly. "If I'd torn it up and you'd read only the second letter, you'd have given that a distorted construction, too. You'd have demanded to know what he'd written earlier, and disbelieved whatever I'd told you." "If you'd shown me this thing the day it arrived I wouldn't have distrusted you. But you put it away, hoarded it, perhaps even wondered if it wasn't yet too late to go to him! How, to your girlish mind, am I supposed to react?" His eyes had a warning glitter. "Perhaps you haven't yet got the hang of this situation. You're my wife, and no one else can dictate how I behave towards you. Up to a point I have plenty of patience and understanding, but I won't tolerate deliberate deception. Nor will I have you hankering for that waster!" "I've told you before that I have no feeling whatever for Harry!"

"Then what are you trembling for? I've never given you cause to tremble, though I could, of course." His expression was dark and cruel. He took her upper arm in a grip that bruised. "You'd hate that, wouldn't you?" "Yes, I would," she said recklessly. "The way you are now —I hate you with all my heart!" He blazed. Her anger died swiftly and she was stricken, all light gone out of her. She shrank, and it was tinder to the spark of his violence. She heard the harsh rasp of his breath, felt herself jerked tightly into his arms, her head thrust back and the barbaric pressure of his mouth against her own, upon her neck and throat, choking her. It was a chastisement. H6 released her suddenly, said thickly, sarcastically, "Didn't bargain for that, did you? Dean is always so polite and distant. It's lucky for you that I still have a few scruples left." He picked up the two letters, one from the bed and the other from the floor. "I'll answer these myself. You won't hear from Harry again." He was gone. Nell sank her forehead into her hand and rested her shaking frame against the lower end of the bed. Thunder rolled across the clearing and the open window rattled. The storm was breaking at last…

CHAPTER XI THE clearing was emerald bright next morning, but down in the ladang were puddles of rust-brown water, and a scum of twigs and chopped grass showed where shallow lakes had formed during the storm. The houses on their stilts were dry, though their thatches steamed, and the villagers set out in hurried crowds to the paddy fields, there to plant a new crop of rice in the rich red mud. Nell saw a number of them as she took her usual walk down to the river. In straw coolie hats, wearing faded cottons and with bare feet, they pushed away in their assortment of river craft. They hadn't far to go, but Malays always saved themselves the trouble of walking when they could. During the night Nell had been sure that she would feel really ill before morning. But dawn had broken almost gently, the sun had risen in a guileless sky, and she had come from her bedroom to find herself alone in the house and still able to move and act like a normal human being. She took longer than usual over her walk, making her way round the rim of the ladang to where a number of girls were pounding coconuts for the oil. They would use the fresh oil upon their hair and dress it elaborately for the festival of dancing, and they would not notice when it smelled rancid a few days later because rank coconut oil was one of the accepted odours and considered not unpleasant. The girls and the children who played in their vicinity were lovely; the younger ones had perfect, open features, large brown eyes in almond-shaped lids, fine brown skin and white even teeth. The more mature girls wore bright sarongs and coatees, and they looked at Nell with an ingenuous frankness which yet was shy. Before the white men they were almost painfully modest, and even among themselves they showed innate good manners.

Nell smiled at them and took one of the paths through the belt of trees. It emerged into the clearing opposite Hugh Selwyn's workroom, and postponing as long as possible her return to the bungalow, she went over to the door to the living quarters and tapped on it. Lisa answered her, pulled wide the door, and bade her come in. "It's better this morning, isn't it?" she commented, following Nell into the living-room. "I felt too flat to move yesterday." "I didn't know the heat ever floored you." "It wasn't the heat—I just felt generally seedy. If I might mention it, you don't look too healthy yourself." "The storm kept me awake," Nell said offhandedly. She sat down in the familiar room and took a cigarette from the packet on the table. "Lisa, when do you go back to Singapore?" "I've been asking myself that," came the shrugged reply. "Pretty soon, I think." The dark grey glance moved over the pale sensitive face, with its compassionate but unsmiling mouth. "Unless you feel it would help if I stayed?" "No, there's so little to do that you'd be bored." She lit the cigarette. "Don't you spend some time with Hugh in the workroom? He'd love to have you." "I know, but I'd be in the way." Lisa let out a sigh of exasperation. "One's so dreadfully hemmed in in this place that it's impossible even to think clearly. The atmosphere seems to have changed so much since we first came here. Then, the men didn't bother with us—not that they're much in evidence now, but it's for different reasons." She watched Nell get up to stub out the cigarette she had just lighted. "What's the matter—isn't the brand in your class?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't want one, after all." She drew in her lip, swayed a little. "I've a bad head. I'd better go." It was only then that Lisa realised how near Nell had come to the end of her resources. She had never thought of Nell Patmore having nerves and losing her healthy colour; even when she had heard about the marriage she had felt that Nell's youth and innocence bolstered by her good sense and happy nature would ensure success. But this was not Nell Patmore. It was Helen Millard, the unhappy wife of Dean. Lisa smouldered. What was the man doing to her? Couldn't he see how desperately she wanted to be loved, how she was falling apart with anguish? And how in the world was it possible for a girl as sweet as Nell to live with a man and not have his whole heart in her keeping? It didn't make sense. "I'll give you some tablets," she said practically. "Take two now and two more after lunch, when you lie down." She paused. "May I come over to dinner?" "Yes, of course. Bring Hugh, if he'll come." "All right." She handed over a small phial of tablets from her handbag. "Do take care of yourself, Nell." For quite some minutes after Nell had gone, Lisa stood in the middle of the room with her hands tightly clasped. For the first time in her life she was frightened, really frightened, because she was plunging into a problem to which it seemed impossible that she could find a solution. What was the matter with her? Why hadn't she seen before that Nell was close upon breaking point? Too full of herself, no doubt! Poor Nell, fighting a terribly unequal battle, and fighting it within herself. What in the world was Dean thinking of? Was it possible that he loved her so little that he couldn't see how she was being torn apart?

And what, exactly, did it mean? That . . . that they were living over there like strangers? It was an appalling thought and not to be endured. Lisa paced to the window and back across the room. In all her life, before she had come to Gwantan, her difficulties had been straightforward ones unconnected with the emotions. Even coming out to Malaya with her brother had presented no real problem, because she had made a promise, and merely kept it. Her inclinations had been involved, but not her feelings; they had been inviolate. But now, to her dismay, she was unsure of herself. This was something she could neither handle nor contemplate alone. She called Muen, the houseboy. "Did the tuan come here for breakfast this morning?" "No, mem. He eat in schoolroom like yesterday." "Isn't he coming to lunch?" "No, mem. Say I must take lunch to schoolroom." "I see. Thank you, Muen." Mechanically, she felt over the knot of her hair to be sure it was tidy, and then she went out and to the door of the workroom. With something of an effort she turned the handle and went in. A few boys looked at her, some of them looked around for the tuan, too. But he was not there. "Is Tuan Selwyn in the schoolroom?" she asked the nearest boy. "There is a class. The tuan must be' in the office." She walked down the centre aisle, went to the door at the right of the end partition and knocked. Hugh said, "Come in," as if he had had

more than enough interruptions for one morning, but when he saw Lisa standing in the doorway he stood up quickly and came round the desk. "Good morning," he said. Then, sensing an urgency in her, he closed the door and turned about, concerned. "What is it, Lisa?" "Hugh, I've just got to speak to you. There's no one else I can go to." "Thanks. I won't make the obvious retort. Sit down." "If I sounded rude, I'm sorry. It's . . . well, I'm upset about Nell. Have you seen her to-day?" He shook his head. "No, I haven't seen her for a couple of days—not since I last saw you, in fact." There was no sarcasm or irony in his tones; he was stating a fact. "Does she seem unwell?" "It isn't anything physical, though she's unnaturally pale. She's dreadfully strained, Hugh; I think she must be living in a frightful state of tension. I'm afraid she'll snap." He took the hard chair at the desk. "Now, wait a minute. Spirited young women don't collapse without good reason. Besides, if there were anything wrong with her Dean would know, and he wouldn't leave her." "I've told you it's nothing physical. She'd take good care that he saw nothing unusual. That's the whole point. She's pretending to be natural and poised, but heaven only knows what's going on underneath. Hugh, I'm horribly afraid she's regretting having married Dean. It could have been a good match; he's the sort who'd have to master his woman, and Nell would surrender beautifully. I know that coming from me this sounds out of character, but I can't bear to think

of her being so disillusioned. What in the world can have happened between them?" "How do you know it's nerves, and not yesterday's heat?" Lisa sighed, vexedly. "Take my word for it. Tell me something. Did they seem happy at the beginning—when they were first married?" "I went away for a few days, but I didn't notice anything amiss when I came back. With Dean you can't tell. Nell was quiet, but that weekend they had a caller—the chap who's coming here to manage the plantation—and she had to be alone while Dean took him round. To be frank, I didn't go over there any more than was necessary, because I was afraid Dean had rushed her into a marriage she wasn't ready for— and all on account of Imogen. I never liked that creature." "I noticed the other morning when I was over there that Nell didn't look at him; he had a cold, lordly manner, and he has it in him to be cruel. What can we do?" Hugh considered. "You might tell Dean that she's looking unwell." "She'd refute it with one of those glossy smiles. She's too young to look burnt out, yet she isn't far from it. Dean would tell me to mind my own business, and after that she'd have to put up with being watched continually. I've never disliked any man so much as I dislike Dean Millard at the moment!" "That's a comfort," he remarked dryly. Her hand closed tightly over the arm of the basket chair. "Hugh, I'm dead serious. I seem to have failed her, and she hasn't a soul to turn to." Hugh leaned forward across the desk. "My dear, there isn't a thing you can do. You're worried about Nell's unhappiness, and so am I,

but has it occurred to you that Dean isn't particularly happy, either? Maybe he really felt deeply for Imogen, or perhaps way down inside he's feeling the wrench of leaving the plantation. He's already signed it away, you know." "Even if you're right, it's not fair for him to take it out on Nell!" "I don't for a moment think he is doing so. Neither do I think we can take any action to help Nell. You simply have to trust Dean where she's concerned. I know you think I'm sliding away from a difficulty . . ." "No, I don't. But it's hard, when you love someone, to have to sit by and do nothing about their wretchedness." He looked at her curiously. "Are you admitting that you love Nell? I thought you were the woman who could dispense with human relationships." "I'm tired of fighting them." Quietly, he said, "I'm glad to hear it. Maybe you'll find it hard to sit by doing nothing about my wretchedness." "Don't bring us into this," she said almost pleadingly. "I've been wrong over so many things lately that my self-esteem is rocking, and I don't care for the sensation." Her tones lowered. "Just bear with me for a little longer, Hugh." He knew a moment of shock. The back of his scalp tingled and of their own volition his fingers tensed on the desk. He wanted to reach forward and raise her chin, to look into the dark-grey eyes, to watch her flush and smile—for him. But the time for that hadn't quite arrived. His impatience must be locked away for a bit.

Very steadily he said, "I'd do anything in the world for you —you know that. If you insist, I'll speak to Dean; but it won't do any good." "No, it wouldn't," she admitted with a sigh. "Your suggestion that I mention that she doesn't look too well is really the best one. I think I'll follow it. Nell wants us to go over to dinner to-night, and nothing much can happen before then. I think we might go at about half-past six." "Fine. Try not to think about it too much before then." He went with her to the workroom door but left her there. As he came back down the room one of the boys met him, his face doleful. "Pull too hard and break the leather, tuan." "Too bad," said Hugh. "You'll have to scrap it and start again." The boy brightened, his mouth fell wide. Clearly, he had expected to have a fine docked from his week's pay. And clearly, thought Hugh, the boy should have been fined and reprimanded. He went on to the office frowning deeply as if he were too preoccupied to realise the unprecedented leniency of his action. But inside the little room he sat down rather heavily, and presently he began a letter to the Richardsons, telling them that he would soon be coming to Singapore to collect Betty.

Dean did not come back to lunch. Tai said he had packed a basket for the tuan but that there had been no message for the mem. Nell ordered only biscuits and coffee for her own lunch, and she had it in her bedroom on a tray. The tablets Lisa had given her made her feel drowsy, but she couldn't sleep. Parakeets were busy after the storm, and several of them were quarrelling under the extended thatch, just

outside her room. A cockatoo kept pecking at the wire screen of the window, hooking his bill into the strands and tugging angrily; eventually Nell had to get up and send him away, and once she was standing she felt a revulsion from going back to bed. The sun was going down a little, lengthening the shadows of the palms and plantains over the clearing. A couple of hardback beetles were mating in the air, zooming around in a knot as big as a golf ball, and wide-winged butterflies fluttered their pollen-drugged bodies among the vine flowers in the big meranti tree. Nell pressed damp fingers to her throbbing temples. She would have liked to bathe her face in icewater, but to procure it she would have had to go to the kitchen and brave Tai's inquisitive stare. She went to the bathroom instead and used the lukewarm water from the tap: it was still grubby from the rains. Back in her room she put on a dress in natural silk which she had made herself from a length sent up by the traders. It was sleeveless, the belt and pockets finished in blue, the collar stiffened and standing up each side of her neck. Nell did not ask herself why she dressed with so much care. This morning, she had decided upon a certain course of action, and as she still could imagine no alternative, she would act upon it. She felt cold and drained, quite unequal to facing anyone, let alone Dean. Yet the very coldness would probably be a help; it lessened one's power of feeling. She never wanted to feel again—not with Dean; because feeling was torture. He came in at about a quarter to five. She heard him go into the bathroom, and from there to his bedroom. She gave a last dispassionate glance at her reflection and wished, momentarily, that she owned some rouge. A sort of feminine Dutch courage. Not that it mattered. The curtains were bound to be drawn, and only muted light

filtered through the door screen. And in such situations what one looked like was not really important, it was naturalness that counted. Nell did not pause just then to reflect that her ideas of naturalness had changed. Now, she never wore the slacks and a shirt; nor was her hair the rough curly mass which had needed nothing but a weekly shampoo and an occasional trim. The happy girl was gone. Treading softly, she went to the living-room, A glass half- full of whisky and water stood on the table, and beside it a cigarette sent up a thin smoke signal from an ashtray. A desk drawer had been pulled open and a much-used notebook had slipped to the floor, spilling a couple of folded papers. Nell retrieved the notebook, closed the papers inside it and laid it on the desk. She pushed in the drawer, set the inkstand further back and moved the piece of polished quartz which Dean used as a paperweight. A few inches of space between the curtains of the window above the desk gave a view across the clearing. A boy was out there scything the storm-strewn grass, and he chanted something as he rhythmically swung his arm. In a minute or two she became aware that he sang, not about his work, but to a dusky young lady who sat at the foot of a palm in the shade. They were. probably promised to each other in marriage; Laughing, uncomplicated people. She heard Dean come into the room and her sinews contracted. Slowly, she turned about. He took up the cigarette, knocked off the ash and looked at the tip. "Would you like one?" he asked abruptly. "No, thank you. No drink, either," She paused, willing strength into her voice. "If you don't mind, I ... I'd like to speak to you."

"My dear girl, you've every right in the world to speak to me," he answered without expression. "You don't have to get tied up about it." "I hope you'll be as reasonable about . . . what I have to say. I went over to see Lisa this morning." "Yes? It was the best thing you could do. What happened to her yesterday?" Nell was shaking inside. He didn't seem to realise that her courage would only encompass what she had set out to do, that if he sidetracked her she would be lost. "She didn't feel too bright, so she rested. I've invited her to dinner tonight. Hugh as well." He looked at her across the table, and asked evenly, "Because you're frightened of me?" Unconsciously, she was twisting her ring round her finger with quick jerky movements. "No. I invited them because I thought we ... we should. Lisa may not be here long." "Did she tell you that? I thought there was something between her and Hugh." "She said she'd stay if I wanted her to, but I don't." The fingers of one hand hooked over those of the other, nervously. "Dean, don't you think it would be a good idea if I went to Singapore with Lisa, when she goes? Please don't think that this has anything to do with Harry. I wouldn't get there till after he'd left. But don't you agree it would be much better for us both, if . . ."

"I shouldn't go any further." As he pressed out the cigarette with a lean finger and thumb his voice was dangerously calm. "Who thought that one up—you or Lisa?" "Not Lisa; I didn't even mention it to her, because it's for you to decide. Please don't be angry, Dean." His eyes glittered, his mouth was hard. "What do you expect me to say? 'Yes, sweetheart, run along and have a good time; try to forget me; look upon Gwantan as a bad dream.' Is that what you expect?" "I hoped you'd understand. If ... if you'd needed me, I wouldn't have even contemplated going." She swallowed on the painful ridge in her throat. "I thought it might be happier for us both if I waited for you in Singapore." "I see." His tone was sharp with satire. "At the moment you're willing for us to come together again—so long as you get away now. What gave you the idea that I'd consent to such an arrangement?" One of those hands which she could not keep still went up to her neck. Beneath it, she felt the pulsing in the hollow of her throat; it seemed to be just below the pain. Huskily, she said, "We're not happy, Dean. Apart, we'd think differently, and it would probably be wonderful to be together again, when you're free of the plantation." "I doubt it," he said incisively. "Marriage is one of the things you can learn only by experience. You can't run away from it, Helen; and postponing problems merely mates them more difficult to solve." He shifted, crossed to the door and stared through the screen. "I'm not going to apologise for what happened last night; human nature being what it is I can't even guarantee that it won't happen again. But from your point of view it could have been much worse. You might remember one thing: a man doesn't act that way simply because he's angry."

Nell could think of nothing to reply to this. All day, her mind had shied away from that punishing kiss and its implications; yet it was because of it that she had desperately resolved to go to Singapore with Lisa, if she could. Somehow, she had thought he would agree. The silence became acute. Dean still stood with his back to her, gazing at the shadows growing across the grass, and Nell felt her nerves pulling and her spine growing more and more rigid. She said suddenly, her voice cracking, "I can't bear the prospect of going on here for two months or more. It isn't only that we're not necessary to each other; we're not even friends, and sometimes I wonder if we ever have been. Dean, I've got to go!" He turned round to look at her, his face dark and unreadable, his head outlined against the light. Coldly and smoothly he said, "You're staying here, Helen, because this is where you belong. I suggest you change your outlook. It's too late for regrets about Harry. Console yourself with the thought that he wouldn't have been faithful, anyway. If you'd allowed yourself to love him and do as he wished, he'd eventually have hurt you far more than I'm hurting you now. And you'd never have been able to hurt him back, because he 'has a hide like a crocodile's." She was too exhausted to choose her words. "At that, he'd be easier to penetrate than you are," she said bitterly. "You must feel strong, keeping me here against my will, but there are some things you can't force me to do, thank heaven. My brain, for what it's worth, is still my own. You may keep me a prisoner here now, but I can plan for the future!" "You're speaking like a headstrong child," he said curtly. "Just get it into your head that we belong together and the rest will fall into perspective. God knows, I don't want to keep jabbing at you, but neither will I tolerate being reminded that you haven't got over your

first affair." He turned sharply to the wall switch and set the ceiling fan whirling. Little of what he said had importance for Nell. All she knew was that the path of escape which had appeared wide open this morning was now closed against her. She could not go to Singapore with Lisa. She was condemned to go on living beneath the roof of a man she loved but in whom she could find no response. She wanted to stay; being parted from him would be like death. But almost as much she wanted to go, because only away from him would she ever find peace. No, that was not true. Peace and security were not for Nell. One steamy morning she had brought two women to Gwantan, and from the moment Dean had insisted that she stay to breakfast she had begun to lose all the peace she had ever known, all hope of safety. Her eyes were hot and heavy with fatigue. She was conscious of him standing there looking grim, of the humming of the fan, of the warm day dying out there beyond the window. But the rest was a vast emptiness. "You're pale," he said. "You'd better have a drink." She shook her head. "No, I'll have a rest till Lisa comes." He didn't try to stop her. The interview had gone his way, so why should he? She walked into the dimness of her bedroom and stood there for a few minutes, shrinking from its loneliness, its association with pain. She must get out into the air, away from the house. She couldn't possibly face Lisa and Hugh until she had thrown off this deadening malaise and the ache of frustration. Dinner with those three would be gruelling. Noiselessly, she went through the kitchen to the back door. With a semblance of casualness, she crossed the grass to the belt of trees, wound among them till there was no chance of being seen, and then

made her way through the forest to the river. There, she leaned against a tree trunk and watched the water blacken and the sky take a violet hue. Soothing darkness was about to fall, but there was no easing off of the pain in her heart; it was as physical as a headache and far more shattering. The landing stage was out of sight, but not far away the launch rested on its rollers, gleaming from a new coat of paint. The boys who had been working on it were laughing and throwing paint rags and brushes at one another, and one of them burst into the usual song about the moon and the forest and lovely maidens. Behind the launch, one door of the copra barn was open. Nell knew it was no longer used for copra, but she hadn't been aware that it housed the launch. She watched the boys clean off their hands, stack their tools and give concerted heaves at the rollers. The launch disappeared inside the shed, but the door was left partly open, presumably to help the drying of the paint. The boys strolled away to their houses. Nell couldn't have explained why she moved towards the copra barn and peered inside, and she was so unprepared for what she saw there that for a moment she clung, helpless, to the edge of the one closed door. The launch took up only the left half of the barn. On the right at the back were the many four-gallon tins of petrol which had to last Dean for the rest of his time at Gwantan. And in front of those bright tins, lying up against the wooden wall, was the small outboard motor boat in which she had brought Lisa and Imogen to the plantation. Nell's tongue-tip stole along her dry lips. She went into the barn and towards the little boat. Her fingers felt along its scarred edge. Then she saw that the cushions, her cushions, were heaped beside it on the wooden floor" and she knelt on one of them, trying in the dimness to

discern which it was. The one from the veranda chair, she thought. And that larger one had belonged to the chair in her bedroom. For Lisa and Imogen she had robbed the house of every cushion . . . even that large baggy one, which had been part of her father's easy chair, in the living-room which no longer existed. The tears which she had not shed for Jim Patmore stung her eyelids. She slipped forward among the soft heap and pressed her face against her forearm.

CHAPTER XII WHEN Lisa was ready to go across to the bungalow for dinner, she went out to the grass hut and called Hugh's name. "Shan't be a minute," he said. "I seem to lose my things in here." "Don't you think it would be better if we went separately?" she asked anxiously, through the grass matting wall. "If I say something frank with you there, Dean will only be sarcastic. I'm not too sure I shall have much success by myself, but I can try. I'll go now, and you can come in a quarter of an hour." Hugh seemed to hesitate. "Look here, Lisa, I don't want to seem to advise you on this . . ." "No, don't," she answered quickly. "It takes courage to face up to it and you mustn't shatter the little I've collected." "I'd much rather go with you." "It'll be better if you don't. Hugh?" "Yes?" She gave a queer little laugh. "Nothing, except that I'm ready." "Ready?" "Oh, don't be so dense! I'll see you later." And she whisked away. As she crossed the clearing her heart felt lighter than it had for a month. The night air was vitalising, and with the freshening of the weather it seemed that stormy human relationships should also become clarified and lose their more perilous aspects. She would be as calm as ever with Dean, use some of that humorous detachment

which had deserted her for a while, but if she could help it she wouldn't disguise her opinions. Nell would be difficult, because she had apparently become expert at looking through people and showing the bright front, but Lisa was determined not to be daunted. She couldn't be thoroughly happy herself till Nell was on her own road to happiness. She came upon Dean in the porch of the bungalow. Behind him, the door was wide open, affording an inviting picture of the softly-lit living-room, the table set with glass and cutlery and a few sprays of yellow flowers in a plain blue jar. He stood smoking, one hand in his pocket, his shoulders wide in a white linen jacket, and as he greeted her Lisa knew swift misgiving. He looked tired. "Hugh will be over soon," she said. "He finds the grass bedroom restricting to one of his size." "Come in and have a drink?" "No, I'll wait for him." She turned, and stood beside him, looking out over the lamplit clearing. "Where's Nell?" "She's resting. I'll call her." "No, don't." She smiled as he looked down at her in surprise, but her expression was rueful. "You're such a difficult man, Dean, that I'm not sure it wouldn't be safer to keep silent. However, I promised myself this little session with you, if I could manage it, so I'd better be outspoken and get it over." "It sounds horribly unwise." "Oh, it is. I wouldn't do it for anyone but Nell."

"I don't think you'd better do it, even for her." He was cool, withdrawn. "You're not pretending she was the reason you returned to Gwantan?" She looked startled. "That's a nasty crack. What are you getting at?" "Come, now," he said with cold mockery, "I'm not blind. I don't blame you for coming back to Hugh; he's a fine chap, in spite of an earlier lack of judgment where women are concerned. But seeing that we're alone, let's be honest, at all costs. You were probably curious about Nell, but it was Hugh who really brought you back." Lisa was shaken. She hadn't bargained for his turning the tables before she'd even begun; nor did she care to reflect upon that discerning eye of his. In fact, his attitude put her in a mood to hurt him, if she could. "You're clever, Dean. But I believe you're just a wee bit too clever in your handling of Nell. She doesn't have to be managed like a business, or an acre of rubber trees, and she's not awfully hard to understand. When she first came to Gwantan she was perfectly happy. ..." His smile was cynical. "We were all perfectly happy. It was the fusion that started up chemical reactions. I'm not sorry. Are you?" "No," she said uncertainly, wishing it were possible to gain some control over the conversation. "I'm not sorry now I'm used to the idea. But I thought you resented it terribly." "You were wrong, and it's equally possible that you've been wrong in other directions. Interfering in other people's relationships is a tricky business, Lisa. Even with people who are likely to listen and take your advice, it doesn't pay. Personally, I think you're only adequately equipped to run your own life. We needn't go into it any further."

It was impossible to get behind that iron guard, she thought despairingly. At one time she had considered herself a match for anyone, even for Dean, but now she seemed to have lost her stiffening; and he was astute enough to make her feel that he was in the right, and she in the wrong. She made a last attempt. "I wouldn't have said anything if Nell had looked her smiling, healthy self. But she doesn't look well, Dean." His face was stony. "She's had painful experiences, one after another. She may have told you that the bungalow at Kahpeng was burnt out with all her own and her father's possessions; then Jim Patmore died in tragic circumstances . . . and there have been other things. No one can take knocks again and again without showing it." With the daring of hopelessness, Lisa said, "Marriage should have made up for those happenings. You must see that." He turned upon her suddenly, savagely. "You seem to forget that you're talking to me about my own wife! When I need your counsel, I'll ask for it." Abruptly, he gestured towards the living-room. "I'll get you that drink." Lisa felt quite sorry for herself. She had set out with the purpose of helping Nell in some way, but she had succeeded only in antagonising Dean and creating a rift between him and herself; as if there weren't enough rifts already! And indoors, in the light, he looked even more formidable than he had outside. She did wish Hugh would turn up. She took her glass from him and drank quite half of the liquid before realising it was a strong mixture meant to be sipped. She fingered the cool yellow bells of the flowers, and it came to her, as idiotic notions do occur to one in strange moments, that the sprays might have been

picked from the bush outside the workroom; foolishly, she wondered if Nell had scalded the tips of the stems, as Hugh had advised. She heard Hugh's step with relief, exchanged a desolate glance with his inquiring one, and allowed herself to be persuaded to sit. Hugh took his whisky and soda and made one of his prosaic comments about the effects of the recent storm, after which conversation slid along normal lines for ten minutes. Then the houseboy came in with an extra lamp, and Dean looked at his watch. "Tell the mem our guests are here," he instructed the boy. Tai stared, his face had the Malay expressionlessness. "The mem is still out, tuan." "Out!" Dean was swiftly on his feet. "When did she go out?" "It is a long time ago, after the tuan and the mem were speaking together in this room." "She'll be back by now. I'll go and see." "No, tuan, the mem is not back. Just now I have put a lamp in the bedroom, as always, and the mem is not there. She is not in the house." Dean had lost colour. Lisa thought faintly that this was it; Dean was going to let himself go at last. She saw him standing there with his head thrust towards the boy, one fist clenched on the edge of the table, and instinctively she knew that something he had been fearing had happened. And because he was paler than she had ever seen him, because, for once, he was entirely at a disadvantage, she warmed to him.

"She's probably forgotten the time," she suggested quietly. "She always said she liked this time of the evening outdoors." Dean ignored her. Of the boy he demanded, "Do you know where the mem went—which direction?" "Towards the river, tuan. I saw the mem's light dress among the trees a long way off." He pointed vaguely back over his shoulder. "She go that way." Hugh said quickly, "She may have lost her bearings. What shall we do?" Dean's voice was strained, his thin nostrils were dilated and very white. "Wait here, and I'll let you know," he said. And then he was gone. They heard him pounding away down the clearing. Tai stole out of the room and Lisa slackened and let out a quivering breath. "I don't know whether he loves her or hates her," she said weakly, "but he's certainly not indifferent. Do you think she would run away?" "No, but she wouldn't lose her way, either, with the clearing so well lighted. I only mentioned that because I hardly knew what else to say. I think you must be right; she's forgotten the time." He took a few worried paces. "If only there were something we could do," "If Dean comes back without her, he'll have some plan. I'm not really frightened for Nell; she knows the country and the people. But I hate to think of her being so unhappy that she had to escape." "It isn't as bad as that, I'm certain. Dean will find her." He pushed a harassed hand over his hair. "I was just beginning to feel cautiously

happy when I came over here. I was going to ask you if we couldn't go off to Singapore at the week-end and have a couple of weeks' holiday. I was even crazy enough to think we might get married right away, and bring Betty back with us until we decide what to do with the future. Lisa . . . you will marry me, won't you?" She met his eyes. "Yes. Yes, of course." Her breath caught oddly. "I want the things that you want. Betty, too. I've been such a fool." He drew her up close to him. "You don't know how good it is to be like this, at last." "But I do," she said. "I've been needing it badly, myself."

Nell hadn't run away, of course. She was still in the copra barn, lying among the cushions, but her face was upturned now, and it looked very young, the closed eyes shadowed underneath and her mouth soft; in repose she was defenceless. That was how Dean saw her when he came upon her. He raised the lantern he had snatched up on his way, drew a few sharp heavy breaths, and got down on his knees beside her. Nell stirred. For full thirty seconds she gazed at him blankly, and when recognition dawned and memory surged back, tiny coins of colour appeared high on her cheekbones. But she felt paralysed; even her will was numb. He spoke instinctively. "You might have told me you were coming here for your rest. Is it a habit?" Her dry lips parted. "I've never been here before," she whispered. "Why are you . . . looking at me like that?" "I don't know how I'm looking. Tell me why you came here, to the shed."

"It was accidental." Suddenly wide awake, she made a movement which brought her up on to one elbow, staring. "What time is it?" "Just after seven. Helen," his hand closed over the shoulder nearest him, "I thought . . ." He stopped abruptly and set down the lantern. His tones became more normal. "This was an odd place to choose for a sleep. If those cushions are damp you'll have a chill. Let's get back to the house." His arm about her, he helped her up. Her head reeled, and she leant against him. "It must have been those tablets Lisa gave me," she said thinly. "They made me drowsy when I took them, but I fought it off. I'd hardly lain down here when sleep caught up on me." In a panic she added, "They're coming to dinner. What will they think of me!" "It doesn't matter what they think," he said. "Let me take your weight, and don't hurry." Apart from a "Steady, now," when she tried to stride, he didn't say anything more till they were within a couple of yards of the bungalow. But there they were met by Hugh and Lisa. "I'm afraid the dinner's off," Dean said curtly. "If you don't mind, I'll send Tai over with a dish of roast." No questions were asked. Lisa smiled. "We understand. See you in the morning, Nell." Nell knew that she murmured something before Dean led her into the house and along to her bedroom. She saw him turn up the lamp, felt his hand over her back and heard him observe:

"It doesn't feel damp, but we won't take any risks. Get into pyjamas and a dressing gown. I'll have the boy warm some milk. You must have been lying there all of two hours." Mechanically, Nell took off the silk dress and got into pyjamas. Her head felt oddly clamped, and it occurred to her that if Dean had not come to the barn she would have gone on sleeping for hours more. Lisa must have thought she needed a sedative badly. She had been apprehensive, on the way up to the bungalow, that Dean would show his anger with Lisa, but there had been-nothing, apart from his offhandedness over the dinner engagement, to show that he thought at all about Hugh and Lisa. They were merely in the way and therefore to be dismissed. She damped a tissue with eau de cologne and pressed it against her temples and forehead, and as she straightened away from the mirror, Dean came in with the milk. He set down the glass and took up her wrap from where it lay over the chair. He held it wide, and she slipped her arms into it. He was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. With a curious quietness he said, "You did tell the truth about going to the barn for the first time? It didn't enter your head to try and get away in the little motor boat?" "No," she answered, standing very still. "I didn't even know the boat was here at Gwantan." "And if you had known?" "I still wouldn't have left Gwantan without your consent. I told you that this afternoon."

For a moment his fingers tightened painfully on her shoulders, and then his hands dropped. "Let's take the milk into the living-room. Maybe you'll be able to eat some dinner." She knotted the girdle of the dressing-gown as she went, and her fingers remained entwined with it, as if they had to be anchored. She stood looking down at the table, aware of the cool sweet air that came through the window. Dean turned back from closing the main door, and to avoid looking his way she drank some of the milk. Warm, and flavoured with whisky, it tasted strange and a little sickly; she was glad to put down the glass. "Helen." "Please, Dean." She held herself rigid. "I'm sorry if my disappearing like that upset you, but when I went out I didn't intend staying away longer than half an hour. The last thing I'd have contemplated was doing anything to displease you." "For heaven's sake," he said roughly, yet on a note of strain. "We can't go on like this! Since we married it's been hell, and it's getting worse all the time. I'm uneasy when we're apart and thoroughly hipped when we're together. For those minutes when I thought you'd slipped away down the river I went through torture, and I refuse to risk a repetition of it." He paused briefly. "I suppose that now you're hoping I'll let you go to Singapore without me?" She pressed one hand within the other, and answered, low- voiced, "What I want more than anything in the world is to understand you." There was a silence. Then he said, "Understanding isn't all that important, and in any case it comes naturally, in time, when you love anyone." Several seconds ticked by before he added abruptly, "After you'd gone, this afternoon, I thought over that request of yours, and it

seemed to me that you couldn't have made it if you hadn't regretted marrying me. You feel I stampeded you into it, don't you?" She said huskily, "I suppose you did, in a way, but... but I wanted it." "How much?" he asked at once. "A great deal. If I was reluctant it was because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to make you happy. I ... I haven't made you happy." "Well, I haven't made you happy, either. You remember the night I said we were getting married—our talk?" "Almost every word of it." "And what I said next morning?" She raised her head a little. "Yes, I remember." "I said I wouldn't make love to a woman unless she showed some small sign of wanting it. I wouldn't have made a statement of that sort if I hadn't been convinced that it wouldn't be long before you did feel your life wasn't complete. Living the way we do is crazy. We're not going on that way!" For the first time she looked straight at him; her green eyes were dark and wondering as she searched those tightly set features, the blue glance which was dark with a lover's passion. She trembled. Her eyes filled suddenly, though her lips smiled.' "I don't know what to say. You . . . you must have known that . . . Dean, if you'd needed me ..." "Not that again.," he said thickly. "I've never known such need in my life!"

But he didn't move towards her, and for the life of her Nell could not have moved just then. She stood there gazing up at him, her heart in her eyes, all barriers down. At last: "Hold me," she breathed. "Please hold me." But he went further, kissing her with all the fury of his hunger. The dinner was spoiled, Tai told them when he was summoned some time later. He could manage soup, toast, cheese and fruit, but he wished to remind the tuan that to-morrow was the day of the dancing festival, and the tuan had promised that he could have the day off; he had arranged to set out in an ox-cart with his family to-night. "All right," Dean said, "bring us the food and go. After that we'll look after ourselves. And don't get drunk tomorrow." Tai looked at Nell in such astonishment at this good- humoured behaviour of the tuan who had lately demanded obedience and silence that she had to stifle a grin at him as he went out. She pulled her feet up under her into her chair. She leant forward, with an elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, savouring every instant of this new-found bliss; the joy of loving Dean with every part of herself and not caring if he saw it. "I can't believe it's only a fortnight," she said softly. "We seem to have been in the house—enemies—for years, but it will never be like that again, will it?" "It certainly won't," he said tersely. "You've done all sorts of things to me, and I'm still not quite myself." "It's been dreadful," she agreed soberly. "I was already feeling negligible, and when you didn't trust me, either, it seemed as if there

could be no alternative but for us to part. Really, Dean, you were a positive beast about Harry." He shook his head, looking at her. "I couldn't get out of my mind the way he kissed you that day. I know that a kiss from Harry doesn't mean much, but after you'd run out he said he'd like to marry you and teach you a few things. I told him he'd forfeited the right to think of anyone decent in those terms and he wasn't very pleased." "I expect that's why he broke his promise to stay on as manager of his plantation." She smiled at him. "But why did you have to keep on at me about him? I couldn't help it if he wrote to me . . ." "But you could help hiding the letter away!" "I didn't want you to see it. I was terribly afraid it would worsen matters between us—as it did!" "My dear girl," Dean's eyes glittered a little as he leaned towards her, "don't you realise that when a man's had just about as much as he can take, he gets dangerous? That's the condition I was in. I knew Harry's little game from the very beginning, when he started to play it out between you and Imogen. Down at the plantation he saw a few women occasionally, but they were all married, and I believe he really had had enough of adventuring with married women! But you and Imogen were both young and unattached, and he thought he was in for frolics. With you, to give him his due, he was more than half serious, and he had the conviction that every man of his type has— that he could win anyone if he set himself to it. I saw it all, right from the start. At first I jibed him about it, then I told him outright to leave you alone. You can guess the sort of reply he gave." "But in your heart you were blaming me as much as Harry."

He nodded exasperatedly. "It just happens that I love you, whereas I don't love Harry." "Haven't you ever liked him?" "I'm afraid not; anything I've done for him has been done from a sense of duty. As a child he was spoiled by his mother, and when she died there were other women to flatter him. He's too darned goodlooking, too practised in the art of pleasing. 1 had him come out to Malaya because I thought the climate and other things would knock the nonsense out of him, but it seems he'll just have to grow out of it. For my part," grimly, "he can do his maturing elsewhere." "Is that what you told him when you wrote?" "I put it rather more strongly. It's my guess that in a year or two we'll hear that he's back in England, possibly with a pretty Tahitian wife. Unless he chooses an easier way of living, in Tahiti!" Carefully, she said, "It seems a pity, really, that he didn't marry Imogen." His reply was decisive. "It wouldn't have lasted, particularly if Imogen had plenty of her own money. Even without it, there wasn't much chance of success. Harry needs a cross between you and Lisa, but I doubt if he'll ever find it." Nell's heart had begun beating with uncomfortable speed, but now it slowed. Apparently he wasn't going to speak about Imogen until he had to, and he seemed to be just a little relieved when Tai brought in the big tray and placed it on the table. The boy said good night and whispered away in his soft shoes, and Dean poured some soup into a bowl and gave it to Nell on a plate which also held fingers of toast. The soup was hot as hot as it might have been, and they ate it

quickly, almost in silence. He cut cheese, pared some fruit and poured coffee. "When we leave Malaya," he said, "we'll go somewhere where we can get a permanent supply of good fresh vegetables. I never thought about them being such a necessity till I began to worry about keeping you healthy." "When was that—two weeks ago?" she asked, smiling. "No, it was only a day or two after you and the other two came to Gwantan. I'll admit I was already thinking seriously about selling out, but I didn't decide till you came along. Then I moved fast. You made the decision for me." "But, Dean, you couldn't have loved me so soon. You thought me horribly girlish!" His nose wrinkled. "You weren't girlish, darling. A little young, perhaps, and very innocent, so that I had to taunt you; but you weren't adolescent. I was often surprised at your mental maturity. I was also surprised at myself, and angry that I should have waited so long to fall in love and then chosen you, whom I'd last seen two years ago as a child straight from school. It was infuriating." "But if you were in love with me, why were you going to take me back to Kahpeng?" "Because, my dear girl, I was pretty sure you weren't yet, shall we say, awakened?" He sighed, and shook his head at her. "When we set off that morning for Kahpeng I knew I was going to feel badly about leaving you, but in a way I'd have been relieved if I could have left you with your father. You'd have been out of Harry's path and occupied with your father's health. If, as I'd hoped, the police had been able to provide you with a decent house, I could have come up

to see you every week-end, and we'd have proceeded along more orthodox lines; I wanted that for you, if not for myself. I intended your father to know what I had in mind from the start; in fact," with a tender smile at her, "I was looking forward to mocking at him. I'm quite certain he'd have had something devastating to say about becoming my father-in- law." "I wish he'd known," she said sadly. "So do I." Neither spoke for a minute or two. Dean finished his coffee and took her cup. Then he bent and brushed his fingers over her forehead. "What are you thinking?" Her red lips parted. "About the pretty little wedding you managed for me, and how disappointing I must have been." "You weren't disappointing. I was too impatient. But sometimes it's as well to be impatient; it precipitates a climax." She laughed gently, then looked up, questioningly. "Did you notice Hugh and Lisa as we came to the clearing from the barn?" "Not particularly." "I wouldn't have, but as we stood out there I . . . well, I kept my head down because I felt rather foolish. They were side by side, and I noticed their fingers were locked tightly together." He smiled, shrugging. "Well, what about it? I knew Lisa came back here because of Hugh. As a matter of fact, I told her so this evening." "You told her!" Nell sounded scandalised. "What did she say?"

"What could she say? It's true. When she cleared off to Singapore I thought it was all on Hugh's side, but she refuted that by returning, and accepting his bedroom. Are you astonished?" "I don't believe I am," she admitted slowly. "I'm glad. Aren't you?" "Of course. She's of an age to be sensible about his first wife and to have some affection for Betty. Both Lisa and Hugh have been through it, one way and another, and they deserve a break." He bent down and lifted her to her feet. His tone became low and urgent. "We've talked enough about other people. I want you." She didn't resist as he took her into his arms, but she kept her face low, against the white jacket. "Dean, tell me about Imogen. The fact that you're avoiding mention of her means she's important." "My darling child, I'm not avoiding mention of Imogen. She's just not important enough to discuss." An instant's pause. "It seems she was simply a good-looking fake." "You didn't think that when she was here." "I didn't know, but it was easy to see she hadn't much depth." Nell said, "I used to think she was the sort of person you might marry. You . . . you did seem keen on her." She felt brief laughter in him. "It wasn't funny! I know you didn't make love to her, because she used to report progress with Harry and you, but you did take her out for a whole day . . ." she tailed off, breathless with the tightening of his arms. "Any advances I made to Imogen were purely technical, to head her away from Harry. When she told me she wouldn't marry Harry

because she was in love with someone else, I didn't bother much more." "But the someone else she meant was you!" "In the light of the news that she stands to inherit a packet if she marries here, I'm inclined to think it might have been. Come to think of it, she did give me a wicked look when she said it. But it was towards the end of the day and I had other things on my mind. I never did take her seriously." Firmly, he turned up her chin. His eyes leapt, intensely. "We're alone, really alone. You're my wife, and I've a fortnight's loving to make up. Kiss me!" Nell obeyed the peremptory command, with more woman's ardour than she had known herself capable of. In those swooning heavenly moments she did not look forward to the time when they would leave Gwantan and start life on the tea plantation Dean wanted; she did not dream ahead to when a bright-eyed son with an incipient hooked nose would state his lordly demands; she did not even look towards to-morrow. It was sufficient to be here in Dean's strong and vibrant arms, to know the power of his need and her own surrender, to be, indeed, his wife.