Dearest enemy

45c

Kathryn Blair

DEAREST ENEMY by KATHRYN BLAIR When Fenella Harcourt travelled to Mozambique with her father, she made many surprising discoveries. But the most amazing of them all was the irresistibly charming, infuriatingly autocratic, Carlos Pereira who lived like an overlord in a palatial dwelling.

The love story of Fenella and Carlos unfolds against the colourful backcloth of Portuguese East Africa, where the sub-tropic climate and the Latin temperament combine to keep emotions running high.

4 HARLEQUIN

Romance

DEAREST ENEMY by

KATHRYN BLAIR

HARLEQUIN WINNIPEG

BOOKS CAM DA

Originally published by Mills & Boon Limited, 50 Grafton Way, Fitzroy Square, London. England.

Harlequin edition published February, 1967

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

Printed in Canada

CHAPTER ONE MOZAMBIQUE! A country impregnated with all the fragrance and romance of great explorers, all the power and tragedy of conquest. Fenella had only to close her eyes to see galleons breasting the white-flecked ocean, the decks aswarm with tawny Portuguese seamen in homespun breeches and bright headcloths, huge gold rings in their ears and a knife at the hip. She leaned upon the rail of the coastal steamer and breathed in the blend of copra, rubber and spice; she looked over the town of Alimane, all dazzling white and green against the dark, luxuriant mass of the hinterland; and, as the engine stopped, she heard the tail-end of convent chimes, sharp and sweet across the stretch of blue water. Her senses were drugged with the surfeit of magic and beauty. "Oh, there you are! The steward is asking about your luggage. You're the only one going ashore here, so you'll be able to have your things in the launch with you." Fenella smiled at the smart little woman who had appeared beside her, and was grateful for the warmth of the firm hand which closed in such comradely fashion over hers. "I wish you were coming ashore, too, Miss Brean. You do promise to visit us on your way home from Lourenco Marques?" "Of course I do. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Machada is quite famous, you know, one of the show towns of Portuguese East Africa, even if it is small. You're very fortunate to have the chance of making your home there for a while." Fenella thought so, too. In fact, she was so blissfully happy about it that she went on dreaming against the rail, reviving the incidents of the past two months. Since her mother's death when she was small, Fenella had lived in a village on the edge of a west of England town with her father's sister, Anna Harcourt. Aunt Anna designed pottery for a well known firm, so Fenella had gone in for designing as well — but she had chosen textiles, 5

not pottery. It hadn't been easy to get started, but with Aunt Anna's encouragement and technical assistance, and extra money occasionally from her father, she had managed to complete her training, and after that she had secured a modest post with a west-country manufacturer of silks and linens. It had been exacting work and sufficiently out of the ordinary to keep her interested and happy. Until she was twenty she had seen her father every other week-end, either in Gloucester, where he practised, or at Aunt Anna's cottage. Then came the bewildering Sunday when he had announced his intention to sell his practice and join a medical mission in Africa, and soon afterwards dawned the bleak mornng when he had sailed away from England into the unknown. He had written regularly for the first eighteen months from Angola, on the west coast of Africa, and then from Mozambique. Fenella's heart still behaved oddly when she recalled the letter which had reached her two months ago, the day before her twenty-second birthday. "This is the most beautiful place on earth, Fenella; rich in history and prodigally endowed by nature. The mission is on the estate of Senhor Carlos Jog de Castilho Pereira, who is the last of a great ducal family and lives in a sort of castle known as the Quinta Agostinhos The whole Pereira property, which includes the delightful town of Machada and all the surrounding plantations, is a magnificent example of both grandeur and industry. I feel you ought to come here, if only for the experience of seeing how other people live. The climate is sub-tropical but pleasant, except in the rains, and I have a modern little house which you'd love. What about taking a few months' holiday from painting butterflies and beech leaves? I guarantee that you'd enjoy this country, and Machada alone will furnish you with ideas for a lifetime—if you do intend to spend a lifetime turning out textile patterns. . . ." From the moment she had first absorbed the gist of the letter, Fenella was caught up in an excitement of anticipation which knew no limits. Tolerantly, Aunt Anna helped to make the arrangements and to select appropriate clothing. Quite light-heartedly Fenella gave up her job; she was 6

promised that she would be considered for a post when she returned. And, on a bright afternoon in March, when cold little cotton-wool clouds raced madly over Southampton Water, she waved to the diminishing figure of Aunt Anna. Gibraltar, Port Said, the grilling heat of the Red Sea. At Mombasa she had transferred from the luxury liner to a coastal boat which carried freight and only eight passengers. And among the passengers was Miss Brean, who was forty-three, like Aunt Anna, but as different from that paint-stained smocked and comfortable woman as a lime from a mango. Miss Brean wore tailored tropical costumes and severe white square-topped hats fitted with a special cork lining against the sun. Her small, alert features and bright eyes had attracted Fenella from the beginning. She had a large income and a passion for travel; her cabin bulged with guide-books and mementoes which she confessed to unloading at Christmas upon her friends, who were no doubt inordinately grateful that she had remembered them during her wanderings. This was her first trip down to Mozambique, and after a stay in the capital she intended, if transport were available, to move around the Province indulging a predilection for the unusual. "Here comes the launch," she said now. "Neat turn-out, isn't she? I suppose the man with the yards of gold braid is the customs official." Fenella's trunk and grip had been brought on deck. The swarthy steward let them down into the launch by ropes, murmured "Obrigado, senhora," for the tip, and Fenella took leave of Miss Brean and her other companions of the voyage. The launch skimmed efficiently through warm, lazy waters. Till now she had not dared to think too much about the reunion with her father. She had never known him as well as most girls know their parents, and had been apt to regard him more as a kindly guardian than as a close relative. Since her childhood they had lived under separate roofs with several miles between them. She had no knowledge of his work, nor much experience of his tastes, but she guessed him to be a man of large heart where suffering humanity was concerned. The fact of his relinquishing a 7

solid private practice in order to joint a medical mission at a moderate salary proved that. The braided Officer bent towards her. "The senhora's passport? Thank you. Dr. Harcourt is waiting at the quay for the senhora." "He is? I didn't dare to hope that. I thought he'd send a car." The officer flashed his white teeth, but said no more, though the Latin mobility of his expression spoke plainly. Such eyes, it exclaimed; the purplish blue of an African night and shining in a way to set light to a man's heart. And soft, amber-tinted hair about a small, fine-textured face. So slim and prettily curved, so simply clothed. Alimane had seen few women like her. Here was the quay, with its background of stucco buildings and a large white edifice at the end which looked more like a splendid villa than a railway station. And here was Robert Harcourt in a beige suit, smiling his restrained English smile and kissing her cheek, thanking the customs official in correct Portuguese, and accepting it as nothing less than his due when Fenella's baggage was passed, unopened. A chauffeur in pearl-grey uniform took charge of the trunk and grip, and Fenella's gaze followed him to the amazing pearl-grey limousine which stood at the kerb. When her father led her in the same direction, she stood back from the car, incredulous. "This can't be yours!" "You're right, my dear. It's worth my salary for a couple of years. Besides, I don't go in for ducal shields. This one," pointing to the emblazoned door of the car, "is the crest of the de Castilho Pereiras. Senhor Pereira will explain it to you if you ask him Get in, Fenella." "Don't you own a car?" she asked, as they rolled away, smooth as silk, over the earth roads of Alimane "Only a two-seater, but it suits me very well and I've become attached to it. I was going to meet, you in that, but Carlos wouldn't hear of it. He insisted on lending me one of his, and a chauffeur." Eagerly, she sat forward to watch the passing shops, fascinated by the succession of names on the cement porticos above them: Bazar Manica, Dos Santos, Joao Manuel 8

Sarmento, Sociedade Agricola, Luis da Silva. Deliciouslooking names, which must sound wonderful when spoken with the correct accent. She took a deep breath. "I'm so glad you let me come. Glad to see you, too," she added shyly. "I hope there'll be some work for me to do at the mission " "Perhaps, a little. All our work is among natives, so you may not take to it." "Who keeps house for you?" "A half-caste named Antonio. Carlos sent him to me." "Does he do the shopping, and cook?" Her father nodded. "He's exceptionally intelligent. He was trained in the Pereira kitchens." She laughed. "You seem to mention that man in every sentence. Doesn't he ever do things in ones? Several cars . . . several kitchens. Has he several wives?" Robert's fairish brows rose with humour. "He isn't married. When you've been here a week you'll understand the set-up. The Pereiras are an ancient family, originally from Lisbon. About three hundred years ago they bought all the land from Alimane to Ibana, which is inland, and in the middle of it they eventually built their palace and created the town of Machada." "And since then they've lived here like kings!" "To some extent. They go to Lisbon to be educated, and Carlos, of course, has travelled widely. His mother was a Scot." "A Scot! How did she trickle into a Portuguese family?" "His father fought with the British in the First World War, and it was while he was on long leave in England that he met and married Jean Cameron. The story goes that she was nearly as dark as he, and very beautiful. She died while still a young woman. Carlos took over the estate when his father died and has run it since that They had turned from the main road into an avenue of palms. Between the trees showed glimpses of rich colonial dwellings embedded in billows of purple and brick-red bougainvillea. Then began the Pereira plantations of coconut palms, mile upon mile of tall trunks with tufted tops, and here and there a mountain of ripe coconuts with a group of native women nearby. They were stripping away 9

the fibrous covering and stuffing it into sacks, creating a new hillock of shorn coconuts which would be carted away, shelled and dried for copra. "When we reach the top of this hill you'll see Machada," said Robert. "There!" Below them spread the little town, half-asleep in the withering afternoon sun. Rocky streets descended between picturesque houses, each of which was set back in its garden and heavily thatched against heat and torrential rains. To the right, the houses were well-spaced and charmingly designed in varying Portuguese styles, and from their midst rose the steeple of a medieval-looking church. "The mission is the other side of Machada," he explained. "And right over there beyond the town you can see the Quinta Agostinhos, where Carlos Pereira lives. Enormous, isn't it, even at this distance?" Fenella was incapable of comment. She hadn't imagined that any part of Africa could be like this — so incredibly continental yet tropical in its setting, with even a touch of the oriental. As they descended into civilisation she saw native boys sleeping on the black and white tiled floors of verandas, and here and there a Portuguese woman, small and dark and rather sombrely dressed, sat diligently sewing behind mosquito wire. There seemed to be no men about, but probably these were the dwellings of the plantation foremen and the artisans, who would be away at their duties. They passed the church and the houses of merchants and professional men, those gracious dwellings she had seen from the hill. Her father pointed out marble pillars and steps which had been brought by the old sailing-boats from Portugal; there were some wonderful renaissance marbles inside the church which she must see some time, he told her. The car swung out into a country road, twisted left and climbed a short hill to the Machada mission. Within the last half an hour Fenella had absorbed so much of what was new and scintillating that the mission appeared at first glance as no more than a long white building with a pair of tough Gothic doors under an arched veranda. As the car sped past towards a line of square, 10

palm-thatched adobe houses, she noticed an adult class was in progress on the veranda; a woman was teaching elementary arithmetic to a dozen Africans. "That's Mrs. Westwood, the missionary's wife," Robert said. "A very able woman but a fearful gossip. Chatter over teacups is the poor soul's only relaxation." Dr. Harcourt's house was new and constructed expressly for a physician's needs. There was a large entrance lounge, a dining-room, two bedrooms, a bathroom with quaintly figured tiles and a well-planned, very white kitchen. Built on to the side, and accessible from the lounge, was a surgery with a second, outer door, and beyond it lay on the dispensary, in a small building all its own. The surgery was used only by natives who could afford to pay a fee; the rest had to attend the mission clinic at specified times. "I expect you'll want a rest," her father said. "Antonio comes back on duty at four-thirty, and he'll get you anything you need. You must be ready at a quarter to six. We're going to the Quinta." "Oh, dear. Do I have to go visiting already?" "Merely a courtesy call, to introduce you to Senhor Pereira. One has to follow a precise code in these parts. Carlos is the true cavalheiro—he makes a point of knowing personally everyone on his estate, and he's aware that you're arriving to-day, so he'll expect us." "I don't believe I want to meet him very much." Her father turned from examining the notepad on his desk. "Why do you say that?" "Well, he sounds autocratic and feudal, and he's bound to be patronising." "A little of all three, I daresay. After all, his position here is unique. The old senhoras court him for their daughters, and the few English girls in Alimane never refuse an invitation to the Quinta. He occasionally gives dinner parties and picnics. They needn't worry you, though," Robert added, smiling. "You're merely a medico's daughter. You won't be invited." "Thank goodness," she said sincerely. In the delight of strolling through the house and admiring her pink and grey bedroom, Fenella forgot Senhor Pereira. Everything about the place was plain and perfectly attuned to the climate. The ceilings were high, the 11

doors tall and wide, and every window and opening was mosquito-proofed. Outside there were no fences, but half-way between each house ran a dark-leaved, scarlet-splashed hibiscus hedge. She learned that their immediate neighbours were Portuguese—a mission schoolmaster and a retired planter who taught civilised methods of husbandry to the natives —and that the only other English in the mission dwellings were the missionary himself and his wife. Her father disclosed that there were several English families in Alimane, eleven miles away, and it was with them that he usually spent his leisure. One benefit of attending natives was that they hadn't the courage to call for his services outside the prescribed hours, and though they kept him busy, he could mostly count on free Sundays. He belonged to the Alimane Golf Club and sometimes did some rock-fishing along the coast. Antonio, who was small and the colour of pale coffee, with a negroid cast and surprisingly well-kept hands, brought tall glasses of tea which tasted refreshingly of mint flavouring, and a beaten metal dish of crisp cinnamon biscuits. The boy was quick and certain in his actions, and his English was nearly faultless. His uniform — white shorts with a three-quarter length, belted overshirt in white with bands of magenta and gold at neck and sleeves —presented a miracle of laundering. The combination of pride and subservience in his manner reminded Fenella that he had graduated from the Quinta Agostinhos. As she dressed, Fenella began to realise that before coming to Mozambique she had known nothing at all about the Portuguese except that in the fifteenth century they had been great explorers; Vasco da Gama and Bartolomeu Diaz, among other brilliant figures, had fired her imagination. This man Carlos Pereira was going to find her woefully ignorant of his people and their customs. He was half-Scottish and had travelled a great deal, but he chose, nevertheless, to live in regal splendour above Machada, ruling the city, the mission and the enveloping plantations. Oh, well. Fenella gave a cheerful shrug. The man meant nothing at all to her. She dressed in blue, a deep marine blue with a white ruffled collar which cascaded in the front to her waist. 12

Her short curly hair was brushed back and then patted into a shining halo, to reveal small delicate ears and a faint blue transparency at her temples. Her red lips had the fresh sweetness of a flower. "You're more good-looking than I recalled," Dr. Harcourt remarked matter-of-factly. "I don't know why, but I've always thought of you as dreamy and studious; it must be that job you did in England. Maybe it's as well that you won't be mixing much in local society." She laughed with the astonishing happiness which kept bubbling in her veins. Everything was so different, so much more exciting than she had expected. She had never felt less dreamy and studious in her life. This time they set out in the two-seater, following the road by which they had previously left the town. The gradient was gradual but unmistakable, and soon the trees became more orderly, so that each side of the road was walled in by thick flowering gums; ahead, the earth track stretched like a long brown triangle outlined in green and fuzzy vermilion, beneath a richly hyacinthine sky. Presently Robert slowed and turned into a private road edged with cedars, at the end of which stood a great stone archway guarding wrought-iron gates. To left and right of the arch rose squat pillars crowned with ornate cupolas in blended marbles. A Portuguese in a magenta linen tunic with a single line of gold braid at each cuff, swung back the gates and bowed almost to the ground. Robert drove through, up between spaced cedars and formal terraced gardens, where statuary was half-hidden by profusions of flowers, round the fountain, upon which a stone cherub took an eternal showerbath, to come to rest at the foot of the veined marble steps. Fenella let out a breath which had been imprisoned too long. She looked up at the covered terrace which extended all the way round the Quinta, at the massive doorway surrounded by an intricate pattern of Moorish tiles, at the series of palmettoes and flowering plants in alabaster urns which ornamented the terrace walls between the arches, and then she got out on to a courtyard paved with lustrous mosaic, which had a cross-pattern of rare black tiles 13

which she instinctively stepped over. She had to breathe rather deeply, and stand still. "Remarkable, isn't it?" said her father. "Go up onto the terrace and look at the walls. There's a continuous line of azulejos showing sea battles and landings on foreign shores. The back entrance has a rococo facade . . ." He was interrupted by another uniformed servant, from the house. "Bons dias, senhor. The Senhor Pereira has a visitor." He indicated the deep arm-chairs on the terrace. "Queira ter a bondade de assentar-se?" Robert Harcourt complied, but Fenella could not sit down. She wandered over the colourful stone floor, took a brief interest in the azulejos and came back to the terrace wall to view the vast garden which sloped away on every side, criss-crossed by terraced paths. Each lawn, smooth and close as green velvet, had its dome palms and flamboyants, or its yellow-massed bombax, or magnolias thirty to fifty feet high. There were borders of abutilons and oleanders and low walls dripping with the blue stars of plumbago and bluer constellations of passion-flower; the flower-beds rioted with giant cinerarias and begonias, Madonna lilies and huge speckled canvas. Birds flitted between bush and tree, compact little things with gay plumage and an impudent chirrup. Still within the cool terrace, she turned the corner of the house and saw a flight of steps with stone, flowerencrusted balustrades, leading down to an immense pool surrounded by a low, sculptured parapet. For some minutes she stood leaning over the wall, staring down through the clear depths at the shimmering green tiles on the floor of the pool. In a little while she became conscious of voices, men's voices. Behind her, a striped awning screened an open window, through which, at this moment, came clear, forcible tones which gave an alien emphasis to the consonants. "I'm sorry, Frankland, but I cannot accept your excuse. You have no business to be in Machada on a weekday for any purpose. I am not surprised, my friend, that your farm in Kenya became so worthless if you will continually put personal pleasure before your work." 14

"But I haven't this time, senhor." This voice was quiet and lazy—rather nice. "There was the matter of the returns on the rice crop that you were keen to have as soon as possible, and the consignment of bags that didn't turn up . . ." "Which you have converted into an excuse for the long trip into town with the little Maria de Gardena. You can trust Miguel to do such things for you." "Would you have had me refuse to help the senhorita?" "No, I would not. But if the senhorita is so indiscreet as to travel to Ibana without her mother or any other protection, let her put up with Miguel as escort. In any case, you know my views in the matter of Maria de Cardena. I will see that you receive a full load of bags to-morrow. You had better go now." "Very well. Good-bye, senhor." "Good-bye" Fenella twisted at once to retrace her steps. She saw a man emerge from the palatial entrance; tallish, wearing knee-breeches and a white shirt, felt hat twirling idly between his fingers. His hair was a deep, dull gold, his face darkly tanned, and as he paused to light a cigarette his contour had a certain ruggedness and charm. She heard her father call from his chair: "Hullo, Austin. Can you come over for a meal?" And the reply: "I- wish I could. I have to get back." "Can't you stay till the morning?" "Nothing doing, I'm afraid," the handsome young man returned blithely, flicking his match several yards into the fountain. "I've just been on the mat." He laughed — an exceptionally pleasant sound — said, "Cheerio, Doc," and dropped down the steps to the courtyard. Carelessly, he tapped ash into an urn, and clamped on his hat. He disappeared; an engine roared, and a sports car sped into sight and zipped away down the drive. For his sake, Fenella was glad the wrought-iron gates had just been thrust wide; possibly the porter had already had experience of Senhor Austin Frank land's antics on four wheels. There was no time to ask her father about him. The servant had reappeared and was inviting them to enter the cool, spacious hall which smelled of the mass of 15

gardenias that stood in a metal bowl on a carved table. A door beside the central staircase was opened, and a man advanced, his hand extended to Doctor Harcourt, while his smile, wholly courteous and interested, yet somehow aloof, was trained upon Fenella. "Good evening, doctor. I apologise that you have had to wait. So this is your daughter. She is very English, is she not? How do you do, Miss Harcourt?" Fenella responded. She was beginning to distrust her own judgment. First this fabulous establishment in sub-tropical Africa, and now the owner of it: much too tall for a Portuguese, his features so distinctive as to be almost sinister His cheek-bones were high, his eyes an extraordinary dark grey beneath sleek black brows. His nose owed much to his Scottish ancestors, but his chin had individuality—it was fearless and angular, peculiarly his own. His skin had the sallow tan of one who has lived most of his life in hot places. Indeed, his sole truly Portuguese feature was the thick black wavy hair which had been coerced into sleekness. She sank into the long baroque chair which he had pushed forward. "What will you drink, Miss Harcourt? I have a bland Madeira wine which has both body and soul—far better than cocktails and gins—though I have those, too. But I recommend the Madeira. It is not a dinner wine." Fenella expressed her willingness to try some. At his own request her father was served with a tot of whisky which he weakened with water, and Senhor Pereira fastidiously hitched his white trousers and seated himself, with a strange, purple-tinted drink on the ornate table at his side. From what her father had told her about the Pereira family, Carlos must be about thirty-three. Fenella thought he looked older. And there was something about him which lit within her a definite spark of hostility. Possibly she was influenced by having overheard the arrogant dismissal of Austin Frankland, who was obviously quite a charming Englishman. Or perhaps she merely disliked the fact of one man having dominion over so many others. Even though her father belonged to the mission, he was, in a measure, dependent on the bounty of Carlos Pereira. 16

"I am sure you will like our country, Miss Harcourt," Carlos was saying, in those urbane, slightly foreign tones. "The soil will grow anything one cares to plant, the houses have age and grace to recommend them, and the people are hospitable and very kind. Have you learned any Portuguese?" Fenella shook her head. "Only four words. Eu nao falo portuguese. My father taught me them this afternoon." "Then we must teach you some more, in order that you shall not have to use those. It is a difficult language but not unapproachable if you already have some French and are eager to learn. Make a habit of studying the newspaper every morning, and you will acquire not only a few words of our language daily, but also a very good idea of how we live." For all the world as if she were a sight-seeing student, fumed Fenella to herself. Fortunately, her father broke in. "Frankland was leaving as we came in. He seemed in a hurry to get away in that contraption of his or I'd have had a word with him. Did he mention anything to you about those two suspected cases of typhus down at his camp?" "You know Frankland," said Carlos austerely, and with some contempt. "His mind is never on his work for more than three hours a day—that is a liberal estimate I myself made enquiries about those cases yesterday, and I understand both boys are recovering. It was not typhus." "Good." Robert emptied his glass and accepted a cigar. He operated the silver clipper and held the cigar in the steady flame of Carlos's lighter. "You must agree that it's pretty lonely at the camp for a man like Austin. Some men aren't built to withstand such monotony." Quite deliberately, Carlos answered, "If you are appealing to me on his behalf it is useless, doctor. I have said six months ago that I will not have him living in Machada. If he cannot stand the loneliness at the camp he must go." He smiled, and a burden was lifted from the atmosphere. "Tell me, Miss Harcourt—how do you propose to occupy yourself ?" "At the mission, senhor." "You are trained to teach?" 17

"No, I'm not." To soften the abruptness of her reply, she added, "There'll be plenty for me to do. My father will fit me in at the clinic." "So? We shall see," said Carlos. Fenella felt an almost violent upsurge of powerless irritation and resentment against him. She watched the fat cylinder of ash plop from the tip of his long cigarette on to the Aubusson rug, and the toe of his fine white buckskin shoe as it ground over the ash, obliterating it in a couple of controlled movements. Difficult to believe that he had warm, Portuguese blood in him; one could imagine him getting coldly, mercilessly angry, but Fenella doubted his ability to become emotional and passionate. If he had any feelings they were held in check by the cautious Scot in him. A servant knocked and quietly entered. "Pardon, senhor. There is a messenger from the mission. The doctor is wanted in the native reserve." Dr. Harcourt rose at once. "I've neglected my job to-day, but one doesn't have a daughter arriving every afternoon. We must go, Fenella." Carlos, also, was standing, and disposing of his cigarette. "If you wish to go straight to the native quarters, I will drive Miss Harcourt to your house, doctor." "Thank you, senhor. If it would be no trouble, it would help immensely." With charming politeness, Carlos excused himself to Fenella and accompanied her father to the terrace. She relaxed the extraordinary tenseness from her muscles. What a strange, exasperating man!

18

CHAPTER TWO LEFT alone, Fenella let her eyes rove over the room. Presumably this was merely an entrance hall, and the great arched doorways opened into other reception rooms. The baroque staircase was lovely; it must be odd and thrilling to mount it to one's bedroom; a marvellous bedroom with a balcony overlooking those dazzling gardens. The portraits, probably by some famous Portuguese painter, were hung too high for a close inspection, but she liked the terra-cotta plaques at eye level, and wondered whose were the heads engraved upon them; they had a Greek appearance. Fenella was not surprised that women were competing for the attentions of Carlos Pereira. His great wealth and position, his charm and emotional inaccessibility combined to form an irresistible, magnet. That he did not magnetise Fenella proved nothing at all, for she was just an ordinary girl from England and devoid of matrimonial ambitions. She wanted to fall in love, of course, but sensibly, with someone she stood a chance of understanding. Fenella had yet to learn that the process of falling in love is rarely accomplished with common sense; nor does understanding come with the first quickening of the pulses. "Will you have some more Madeira, Miss Harcourt?" Fenella turned. "No, thanks It was good, but I'm not accustomed to wine." "Like a great many English women," Carlos commented with a bow. "This country may change a little your habits. You are frowning. I have offended you, perhaps?" "Of course not, senhor." "Ah. I have it." He snapped his fingers. "I should have offered you cigarettes. Portuguese women do not smoke in company with men—at least, not the young and unmarried —but my English friends are less conventional. "Forgive me." "No cigarette, thank you, senhor. My frown was simply an outward sign of concentration upon your lovely walls and carved woodwork." 19

"Visitors are always speechless before the loveliness and perfection of Portuguese art," he said calmly. "I had expected something different from you." Fenella felt a definite rising of the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. Frigidly, she said, "Different? In what way?" Indolently, Carlos lifted his shoulders. His mouth had taken a faint slant of amusement. "You have a wide, candid brow, Miss Harcourt, and a small, determined chin. Your eyes, if I may say so, reflect too clearly your passing thoughts. I could not help but see that my reference to your gay young countryman, Austin Frankland, did not please you." "I've never met Mr. Frankland, so I could have been neither pleased nor displeased." Fenella paused, chin up. "I'll confess, though, that I walked round the terrace and heard you talking to him." "Oh." His smile became sardonic. "Then you do not need me to reiterate that Frankland is a philanderer, incapable of sincerity and not to be relied upon. There is nothing vicious about him; he has even been known to do brave deeds. But there is a flaw in his nature." "Then why do you employ him?" "Occasionally, I put to myself the same question." His tone dismissed the subject and reverted to the polite and impersonal. "Later, when you are acclimatised, I should like to show you the other rooms and our private chapel. Some of the Quinta is new and some is old. There is also much to be seen in the town. We have our own fruit canning depot, a rope and twine works, a factory where wicker furniture is made, and several others. One day you must carpentig see our ebonies growing, and the craftsmen at work ornaments and small animals from the wood. Also, our natives are encouraged to perpetuate their own crafts." Fenella collected her hat. As they went outside, Carlos continued talking, the correct host escorting a guest from the premises. He put her into a car and himself slid into the driver's seat. He had the lithe grace which comes from constant, economical movement. In fact, thought Fenella, he was altogether too insidiously attractive. They glided out into the road fringed with gums. And still Carlos went on with his descriptions of the countryside 20

and its products, the mixture of people who lived there, and the numbers by which they were increasing. Fenella listened, annoyed by the even voice with its un-English enunciation and scarcely a Portuguese interjection, and almost angered by the imperious manner which seemed, to her, to have an undertone of sarcasm. As they passed the mission in the dusk, the nurses and servants curtsied and bowed, smiling with a genuine joy, and Carlos replied with the arrogant inclination of his head with which Fenella was already becoming familiar. He helped her out on to the path. "Thank you, Senhor Pereira," she said distantly. "Good night." "One moment." He lifted a detaining hand. "I have been thinking about your working in the mission clinic. I do not care for the idea." Fenella met his eyes, and hers were a little hard. "How can it affect you what I do? Surely my father may choose his own assistants?" "Dr. Harcourt is in charge of the clinic . . . yes; but I also have a word in its management. If he needs another nurse I will procure one from Lourenco Marques." Stung, she said quickly, "Isn't that rather high-handed? I'm not a slow learner, senhor." "I do not doubt that," he said curtly, "but you will do as I say. I will not have an untrained English girl on duty among natives. It is neither seemly nor practical. Compreender aquilo? It is forbidden. Boas noites, Miss Harcourt!" The car swept away. So that, pronounced Fenella, flinging her hat into a lounge chair, was the lord of Machada. The air of him! How did her father stand the man? Though she grudgingly recollected that Carlos had spoken as an equal to Dr. Harcourt. Maybe he reserved the masterful severity for inferiors . . . and women. Well, he needn't try it on with Fenella Harcourt; she wasn't one of his moon-eyed admirers. And if there were ways in which she could assist at the clinic, Senhor Carlos Jose de Castilho Pereira would not prevent her. After which private spasm of defiance, she picked up a note from a pinewood table, saw that it was addressed to 21

herself, and drew the single sheet of paper from its envelope. "My dear Fenella (it read). So sorry I was not on hand to greet you this afternoon, but I do welcome you very gladly. We English at the mission are too few. No doubt your boy has already prepared dinner, or Mr. Westwood and I would have liked you to dine with us. However, perhaps you and your father will come over for an hour later. I do so want to hear all about your trip, and your first impressions of our beautiful Machada. Sincerely, Alicia Westwood." The garrulous wife of the missionary. People who talked a lot were often companionable, and it looked as if Fenella would have to depend to some extent upon Mrs. Westwood's friendship—during the week-days, at least. Besides, she did want to learn more about the town— not the facts and figures such as she had been regaled with by Carlos, but about the old families he had mentioned in passing, who represented the cream of Mozambique society, the sons and daughters who danced and made love in those elegant old houses near the church. So she wrote a reply to the note and, rather nervously, called Antonio and bade him take it along to the house of Senhora Westwood. Half an hour later her father came in, and Fenella ate her first meal on African soil. A vegetable soup, pickled fish, chicken with bacon rolls, an iced sweet, cheese and fruit, together with an excellent, rich coffee. "And all of it brought to the door," Dr. Harcourt said expansively. "Our only shopping is for staple supplies, such as flour, sugar, dried fruits, and so on. In Angola we lived on tinned foods, tough beef and yams. Here, we're lucky enough to have everything fresh and of the best." "Thanks to Senhor Pereira," Fenella tartly ended for him. He laughed teasingly. "Don't worry about Carlos. Now that you've made your duty call you may never have to speak to him again. He doesn't often come to the mission." He folded his napkin. "Let's get along to the Westwoods. I'm sure you need an early night." 22

Fenella agreed. She went to her bedroom to use a powder puff and hesitated in there, near the wire-screened window. Beetles were singing out in the grass, and a musky smell exuded from some blossoming shrub and came in soft gusts to fill the room. Clearly, over the night air, issued notes plucked from a guitar, and in a moment a thick musical voice joined in and softened to a nostalgic and liquid sweetness. She caught the far-away glow of a native fire, and for some reason her mind switched from this evidence of the primitive to splendid mosaics and borique ornamentation, and the white-suited senhor with dark grey eyes. She breathed a deep and quivering breath. So this was Mozambique! During the next few days Fenella became acquainted not only with the grave-eyed missionary and his plump, homely wife, but also with her immediate neighbours, Lario Santos, the schoolmaster, and old Senhor Aguilar, the retired planter, both of whom talked fluent English. It turned out that Lario was the man who sang and strummed the guitar; he was a member of the town band which played for dances and festal, and he was engaged to one of the nurses at the clinic. Mrs. Westwood, who invariably wore a dark skirt with a white shirt-blouse and took no trouble at all with her greybrown hair, could pour out a considerable amount of detail over the mid-morning glass of tea. "The Agueria couple—in the end house—order up supplies for the mission and see that the boys keep everything spotless. Next comes the Seixas family—wonderfully nice people—who run the bookshop in town but live here so that the wife can give instruction to native women—she's a gem, I give you my word! Then comes Adriano Lopes; he's a sort of pensioner of the Pereira family. Strictly speaking he has no right at the mission, but he likes his house and Senhor Pereira won't have him moved." And so on. Fenella assimilated about half the information yielded at each sitting and gradually built up in her mind the tiny busy community of which she was now a member. There were ten houses, none quite like the others, and each was set in a fair-sized garden and hedged in by a wall of hibiscus. The gardening was done by a squad of mission boys. A huge arm of tall, luxuriant magnolias cradled both mission 23

and houses, but the view of the town—white buildings and coloured roofs peeping between masses of flowering trees— was uninterrupted, and, to Fenella, an unfailing delight. Each day the sky was a flawless blue and a dreaming wind sighed over the hillside and kept the scents stirring. The footpaths to the mission, innumerable and winding in from the native villages and reserve, saw a continual ebb and flow of dark-skinned Tongas in every conceivable form of dress. The younger ones, in their uniform white mission school smocks, all had that surprised, expectant look so refreshingly common to the budding African, and the babies, mostly naked, tumbled about in the grass like puppies. Their elders came to the clinic for advice and medicine. There were no definite working hours at the clinic, for the natives lived maddeningly by the sun. Dr. Harcourt breakfasted at seven and began to attend to his patients at eight, but the nurses had to be on duty much earlier, tending the hospital cases and dressing the less serious wounds of those who had congregated in the mission courtyard. An astonishing number of natives were injured every day. Fenella was allowed to watch lessons in the school-room and veranda, and to walk through the ward and surgery of the clinic, but her father insisted that she become more accustomed to the heat before attempting anything in the least strenuous. In any case, she was supposed to be on holiday. It was not till her second week-end at Machada, on a Saturday morning, that she strolled down into the town to buy stamps and enjoy her first peep into the shaded shop windows. The Avenida Paiva Manso was broad and white with a strip of lawn down the centre from which grew tall, smooth-trunked palms with emerald fans. The stores displayed spices and jewellery, and a few model gowns from Lisbon, but more attractive were the curios and lovely silks, the beaten metal trinkets set with semi-precious stones. Unaware that the shopkeepers were smilingly intent upon her progress, Fenella moved absorbedly from window to window. She had forgotten that, being the only English girl resident in Machada, the whole population knew all there was to know about her. 24

A small, highly polished carving caught her eye, a square block of green stone smoothly hollowed out and rimmed with a garland of flowers. It was the sort of thing that Aunt Anna doted upon, but Fenella hesitated, a little doubtfully. Buying stamps at the post office had been easily accomplished by repeating the half-dozen words which her father had written on a sheet torn from his notepad. Bargaining for a piece of carved jade called for ingenuity and a quick translation of escudos into pounds sterling. Fenella was about to pass regretfully on her way when the shop owner came to his door and, with a deep bow and a glistening smile, addressed her. "Possa ajuda-la, senhora?" Eu nao falo portugues, senhor." Fenella was congratulating herself on the speed and correctness of her apologetic disclaimer to any knowledge of his laguage, when the man looked beyond her and beamed. "Senhor Frankland!" Fenella turned, met two twinkling blue-green eyes and smiled, with some relief. Austin Frankland was hatless and the dull gold hair had become uplifted with the breeze. He had a smooth teak-tan which emphasised the whiteness of his teeth. He was even more pleasant to look upon than Fenella had thought that day at the Quinta. "Well, well," he said. "So we meet at last. Your father told me a little about you when he came down to the camp a few days ago, but with the usual parent's reserve. He didn't mention the word 'pretty' once. Glad to know you, Fenella." The shopkeeper broke in with a further bow and a wealth of Portuguese. Austin listened tolerantly, his gaze upon Fenella, his eyebrows twitching. "Is this true?" he wanted to know. "Are you simply desperate to buy something from the shop and unable to make yourself understood?" "Not desperate," she said. "But there's a piece of carved jade on display which would please my aunt enormously, and I suppose I did examine it rather thoroughly." "An aunt in England?" he enquired interestedly. "I used to have several a few years ago. In time they tend to become too expensive." 25

The Portuguese again made himself heard, and Fenella was persuaded to indicate the object under discussion. A staccato and somewhat long-drawn argument ensued between the two men. Then Austin turned to her. "He won't go below a hundred escudos—that's over a pound." "It can't be real jade for that money," she protested. "It isn't. It's a Portuguese stone, but quite good. Do you want it?" The purchase was put through and the article wrapped in tissue paper. Fenella paid, dropped the heavy packet into her bag and voiced her thanks "Where to now?" asked Austin. "Home, I think. It's warming up." His small open sports car stood at the kerb, a dazzle of dusty red with peeling chromium fittings. He opened the nearside door. "Slide in, and I'll take you round the town first." "How odd that you should stop directly outside that shop." "Not a bit odd." He got in beside her. "You're the first fair woman I've seen since the last bunch of tourists descended upon Machada, which is quite a few months ago. You stuck out a mile as a maiden in distress, so what could I do but pull up, don armour and hasten to the rescue in the best romantic style?" He steered out behind a slowmoving car. "I'm jolly glad you've come to Machada. I hope you'll occasionally take pity on a lone bachelor." "You don't appear to be in need of pity. Where do you live when you're not at the camp?" "I rent a room at the back of the town, but I seldom eat there," he said. "Taking the hint?',' She smiled. "It was too broad to miss. You may come home with me to lunch, if you like." "I'd prefer dinner, if you haven't made other arrangements." "We don't go out. I haven't met the townspeople." "No?" This morning he seemed willing to crawl along at the pace of the motorist in front. "Some of them are well worth knowing. You must let me take you to the next festa. It's one of the best ways of meeting people, and a 26

Portuguese festival is an education in itself, to both the palate and the emotions." "Emotions?" she echoed. "Not apprehensive, are you?" He grinned at her. "There's a quality about the nights here—I've never met it anywhere else that's inclined to get under the skin. When you have lights in the trees and the moon scintillating on ruffled water, music, wine, laughter, dancing . . ." his shoulders rose, explanatorily; "add a modicum of imagination and see if it doesn't tilt your equilibrium, Fenella." "It sounds exciting, but almost anything is exciting here. The whole atmosphere is strange and heady. Why did you come to Mozambique?" Austin drove for a minute or two in silence. He halfcircled the trim gardens at the end of the Avenida and took a road which led by a roundabout route to the mission. "I 'first met Carlos Pereira at Cambridge University," he said. "We were both studying agriculture, and we had a lot of very good times when we were still bright and gay. Sometimes, when there was nothing else to do, we talked about the future. Not that Carlos himself ever said much. I told him I intended farming in Kenya, and when eventually we parted he asked me to keep in touch with him— it was merely a generous gesture on his part. Well, I took over a farm, but after two poor seasons I'm afraid I lost heart. I'm not one of your stolid, untiring tillers of the soil. So I wrote to Carlos and he offered me the post as superintendent at the Ibana end of the plantations, which I accepted with the greatest alacrity — heaven knows why. I've been here eighteen months." A curious note in his voice made Fendlla pause before saying, "Don't you care for it here?" "Mozambique is all right, but it's no fun living at the camp five days a week. Till six months ago I had one of the bungalows at the mission, only a couple of doors from your father. Then Carlos decided to build a house for me at the camp. You've met him, of course?" She nodded. "He's an incalculable sort of man." "Not really. He always does the right thing at the right time—which has a chastening effect upon me, I must confess. He's intolerant of any sort of weakness. I don't like 27

him, but I do admire him." Austin gave her a teasing glance. "He floors the women, you know. You'll have to watch out." Fenella laughed with him. "He won't floor me. My feet are firmly planted on the ground, thank goodness, and I don't approve of one man owning so much." She waved a hand. "It's almost incredible that he should live at that castle, looking out over a whole town and miles of plantations and whatnot which belong to him." "Machada owes its existence to the Pereira family, but Carlos has departed to some extent from the tradition of complete ownership. In the bad old days, during all the various troubles which used to beset colonies, the plantations were worked by slaves, but to-day the natives in the reserves are housed free, and any Portuguese in the town is entitled to buy his house, if he wishes; when the young people marry they're presented with a gift of land on which to build. There's also a council responsible for public works. You'll admit the place is a credit to him." They were within sight of the mission, and Austin nodded up towards it. "That's new—it was just completed when I came. Carlos turned the whole thing over to the missionary society, together with six of the houses and a packet of money." He paused. "Sometimes I wonder what will happen to it all if he doesn't marry." "Why should you think he won't?" "Carlos isn't likely to take a wife simply from a sense of duty to his position. From what I know of him he'll have to be in love first, and I'm fairly certain there's no one who attracts him in that way." She smiled and said lightly, "No ordinary woman would satisfy him. I don't believe he'll ever meet one he'd deem worthy to share the Quinta Agostinhos." Austin had stopped outside the doctor's house. Companionably, he leaned an arm upon the back of the seat and faced her. "What time do I come this evening?" "We dine at seven-thirty, but come early." "What about a trip into Alimane to-morrow?" "My father suggested that, too. We could all three go." 28

"But in two separate cars," he said firmly. "What a pleasure it is not to be compelled to say `senhora? in every breath." "Is that what you're accustomed to? I suppose you know a good many Portuguese girls?" "Yes," he said drily. "But, being a bachelor of limited means, I'm better acquainted with their mothers. Being entertained in their homes is so depressingly formal that I avoid it when I can." "Which is why you snatched at the chance of driving Maria de Cardena home from Ibana," she slipped in mischievously. "Maria?" His puzzlement dissolved in sudden enlightment. "So you heard about that? Maria is one of those excitable wenches. You never know what she's going to do next." "She sounds reckless and carefree—a girl after your own heart." Now that the car was stationary the sun beat down with the malicious ferocity of blown flames. Fenella opened the car door and slipped out on to the path. "I'll see you later, then. Thanks for the lift." Austin airily waved a hand and raced away. The week-end passed happily. At dinner that evening Austin was an appreciative guest, and his conversation was easy and undemanding. His banter was of the type that is peculiarly English and rather restful. The fact that Dr. Harcourt found him good company added to Fenella's enjoyment of the younger man; she was grateful for anything which helped to bring herself and her father closer to-. gether. Sunday in Alimane was comparatively lively. There was a regatta in the lagoon, and later a visiting brass band blared in the centre of the shady square, while people sat around in basket-chairs drinking light wine and gossiping. And then at dusk came those piercingly sweet convent chimes and the square emptied. Fenella, her father and Austin dined with an English family and got back to the mission by ten. Austin smiled appreciatively and said, "I'll be calling again next week-end, if I may." "Glad to have you," Dr. Harcourt answered cordially. "And you, Fenella?" Austin enquired, in accents engaging but faintly mocking. 29

"Naturally," she said. "We English are bound to stick together." Thinking about him the next day, Fenella decided that Austin was much more likeable than she had anticipated, after the acid comments of Carlos Pereira. Possibly he did scamp his work because he loathed it; and Mrs. Westwood's whispered communication to the effect that Carlos had removed him to the camp because his presence in town was unsettling a certain young lady might be true. But, the climate was hot and enervating, and what was a matter for deep concern in Machada might be regarded as a mild flirtation elsewhere. In Fenella's opinion, Senhor Pereira's criticism of his English superintendent had been unnecessarily harsh. Austin was merely human. He was no more of a philanderer than any other young man at a loose end in an exotic land; and blitheness and friendliness were scarcely indicative of a flaw in his nature. The great senhor's standards were too exacting. During the following week her father gave her the longed-for permission to work for two hours each day alongside one of the nurses in the clinic. Fenella had already tried to edge in on the housekeeping, but Antonio's training had been so exhaustive and attuned to the climate that she could think up no improvements. He did everything one wished for, and more. Her single attempt at making broa, the maize bread which seemed to be preferred in Machada, was such a lamentable failure that her erstwhile confidence in her own culinary abilities was badly shaken. She would wait a while before trying anything else. So it was with relief that she discovered in herself a slight aptitude for nursing. Her duties were uncomplicated and congenial, for they had to do with an experiment of her father's upon the nutrition of all the small children in the reserve. Periodically, the piccaninnies ranging from the age of one to four years had to be weighed and measured, and have their eyes, ears and throats examined. Results were charted, and each child was then passed outside to its mother, who was told when to come back for further tests. Dr. Harcourt was pleased with the statistics of his correct feeding scheme. Now that she was beginning to take part in it, he talked it over with Fenella in the evening. 30

"It's a great deal of bother, of course," he said, "because we have to provide and supervise the meals and threaten the mothers with dreadful penalties if they supplement the diet with their own food; but disease among the children is waning and the best sign of all is the noise they make when they play." "What about the over-fours?" "They have the school meal and a half-yearly overhaul. It's the best we can manage for them." She smiled at him with affection. "I can understand why you chose mission work. If it weren't for Aunt Anna I'd stay with you always and do my bit." Her father shook his head. "I'd rather you married and lived a normal woman's life. Some people are definitely patterned for the mission, but you aren't." "How can you tell?" "One indication is the way young Frankland looks at you. It's strange, but I hadn't contemplated anything of that sort till last week-end, when he was about the house. You're the happy kind, Fenella, and there's nothing attracts a man so swiftly as a spontaneous smile allied with intelligence." "Thank you," she said demurely, "but I hardly expect to find a husband in Machada." "That's why you mustn't stay too long." He sat down to write his daily diary and complete the list of dispensary requirements. As always, his attitude was that of the preoccupied doctor, but Fenella sensed in him a gladness that he had made clear his thoughts on a delicate but important matter. She was coming to know him very well.

31

CHAPTER THREE ON her fourth morning at the clinic the nurse was called away from the small partitioned room in which the children were tested. Left in charge, Fenella stood the naked two-year-old on the scales and marked up the weight, measured the height and pencilled that in, too. Then she dropped the single small garment over the dark, glistening shoulders and lifted the child up to sit on the edge of the table. "You're very solemn," she said. "Where's that nice big smile ?" The only response was a mournful widening of huge dark eyes. Fenella decided it might be as well to hand the piccaninny over to his mother till the nurse was free again. She put him on the floor and held his hand, opened the door to the veranda and looked up into the cold, taut face of Carlos Pereira. "Miss Harcourt!" "Good morning, senhor," she said hastily, and was thankful to see the baby's mother dart forward to take charge of him. As unobtrusively as she was able, Fenella pulled shut the door behind her, and then contrived a small smile. "Are you looking for Mr. Westwood, or my father?" "I am looking for neither. I called at your house and learned from your servant that it is your habit to spend each morning at the clinic. To spend each morning at the clinic," he repeated, as if every word were a needle jab, "after I have sternly forbidden it. Come this way, please." He stood aside for her to descend the steps. "We will go to the house." "Very well, senhor." Fenella obediently walked at his side and mounted to her own veranda ahead of him. Apparently he had no intention of entering the lounge; perhaps to invite him in while her father was absent would outrage his sense of convention. One couldn't tell, and by the steely flames in his eyes he was already sufficiently put out. "You will please explain, senhora!" 32

In face of his towering displeasure Fenella felt a little helpless. "There's nothing to explain. This week, for the first time, my father has permitted me to help Nurse Silva in some of her lighter duties. The children we deal with are thoroughly clean and healthy." "That is hardly the point. I am not accustomed to having my orders disregarded." "But, Senhor Pereira . . ." "Must I repeat that caring for natives is not for a girl of your kind! The doctor has given in to your pleading, but I certainly will not. You will keep out of the clinic, Miss Harcourt!" Exasperated, she burst out, "Do you honestly think my father would let me go into the building if there were any danger?" "Your father is first a doctor—he will no doubt have every regard for your physical welfare. It is obvious now that I should have made my wishes known to him, so that he could have enforced them. Mulher a inconstanter "What does that mean?" The grey gaze lost a fraction of the remote glitter. "It means that I should not have been mislead by your very blue eyes and frank expression." "But I didn't give you my word, senhor!" Critically, the arrogant nostrils still dilated with distaste for the self-imposed task of reprimanding her, he surveyed her flushed cheeks and parted red mouth, the eyes which sparkled with vexation and the lock of amber hair which had become displaced and curled confidingly round her temple. Almost imperceptibly his manner changed. "Please sit down," he said abruptly. "I am sorry to have been so angry, but it had not occurred to me that my desire in this matter would be ignored. You will give me your word now." Fenella had sunk into a folding chair. With his customary fastidiousness, Carlos hitched impeccably white slacks and took a seat on the other side of the painted metal table. His hand, long-fingered and flexible, rested on the table top; a fine, strong hand, she thought, which looked capable equally of violence and tenderness. Good heavens, why should that come into her mind? 1083

33

"If I am not to go into the clinic, how do you suggest I spend my time, senhor?" "There is the house, needlework, reading. And I understand that you paint." "I've designed materials, but I'm by no means an artist. As for the house—what is there for me to do, unless you will agree to my sending the houseboy back to the Quinta?" "That is impossible," he said sharply. "I would have no objection to your helping in the dispensary or with the records. Or Mrs. Westwood might find you some light job now and then. On the whole, though, I would prefer that you stay away altogether from the mission. They are sufficiently provided with paid workers." "I'm afraid I can't promise to do that." He leaned slightly towards her across the table and spoke crisply. "I will see to it that you do not have close contact with natives. That is final! Masking her annoyance, Fenella gave a resigned sigh. "This is your country, senhor," she said politely. "I have no other course than to obey. May I offer you a drink?" "No, thank you." Carlos tattooed with his nails for a second upon the table. "I had a purpose in coming here this morning. I intended to ask for your assistance." "Really?" Fenella smiled brightly. "In what capacity?" "There is a young cousin of mine who is coming to Machada from Lisbon. She is about your age—or perhaps a year older—and she has never before left her country. She will travel with an aunt. You are English, therefore it will be incomprehensible to you that a girl who has already come of age should still lead a sheltered existence. Like most Portuguese of good education, Antoine can speak English, and as soon as she arrives I would like you to meet her and be friendly with her." "I look forward to it, senhor." "I think you will be good for Antonie, your fresh outlook will broaden her view of the world. At the moment her life is painfully confined. I have not seen her for two years, but I remember that her interests were limited to the home and playing the piano." "But surely such pursuits are what you most admire in a woman!" 34

A smile moved his lips. He leaned an elbow on the table and regarded her thoughtfully. "Antoine also has a fascinating flair for coquetry." "Then maybe both she and I will benefit from her visit." He lay back again, his eyes half-closed, the smile tantalising. "You will never be a loireira. One so forthright could not coquet successfully. I wish my cousin to learn from you, not you from my cousin." "When will she arrive?" "Not for some weeks. Her father's letter reached me this morning, and they are awaiting my cable before arranging her passage. I am going into Alimane on business after lunch, and will send it then." He paused, and the hint of satire of which she had been aware at their previous meeting crept into his voice. "Did you enjoy the regatta last Sunday?" "Yes." Unnecessarily, she added, "Were you there?" "I saw you from the lagoon. I had two yachts entered." In sudden, inward irritation she thought it would have to be two yachts, of course, and no doubt they were magnificent affairs with the Pereira coat-of-arms on each side. "We didn't watch for long," she stated. "Next Sunday you and the doctor must lunch at the Quinta," he said suavely. "Unless you already have an appointment with Frankland?" Fenella suppressed a surge of reluctance. Idiotic that she should feel so antagonistic to this man, so averse from anything which savoured of patronage from him. Yet she had an extraordinary longing to see the Quinta at close quarters again, to stand on the terrace and let her glance wander over those acres of fascinating gardens, and to pass through one of the tall, arched doorways into a large, gracious dining-room. She could recall the exact pattern of the mosaic in the courtyard and the terrace, the rich depth of its colouring and the sensation of luxurious unreality in walking over it. The Quinta was a place that would lodge in anyone's heart. "You're very kind,". she said off-handedly. "I'll tell my father." Carlos stood up. "I will ask him myself. I will also make plain to him my decision that only trained nurses, preferably Portuguese born in Mozambique, should work in the 35

clinic. Having grown up among Africans they are the most suitable. Born dia, Miss Harcourt." Fenella watched his firm, lithe stride, the air of hauteur with which he slipped into the preposterously long sapphire blue saloon and glided away. She went indoors for a glass of lime. Antonio, quiet and obsequious, served it with straws and iced wafers and Fenella tried to relax in the cool, dim lounge with the main door open to the veranda and the fan going high up on its corner bracket. But the senhor's visit had unsettled her to an abnormal degree. Recollections of his spurt of cold anger at finding her in the clinic and the subsequent unbending, his foreign inflections and commanding manner were alternately maddening and bewildering. What a complex personality he was; at one moment asking the favour of her friendship with his cousin and at the next flinging at her the reiterated command to stay away from natives. When her father came in lunch was ready: steamed fish and a salad of continental proportions and variety, followed by a blend of tropical fruits. Fenella waited till he had been served before mentioning Senhor Pereira's visit. "Oh, yes," said Dr. Harcourt. "He came over to the native reserve and we had a talk about it—or rather, he did most of the talking. I don't quite agree with his point of view, but I daresay we can fix you up in the dispensary, as he suggested. I suppose it would be safer." "It was such fun helping Nurse Silva with the little ones. Need we capitulate?" "We must, Fenella. Carlos won't budge, and so much of his money finances the mission that it wouldn't be fair to put his back up over such a trifle. You can still enter up the charts for me." "I can't for the life of me see why he had to interfere," she said warmly. "You'd think he'd welcome voluntary aid at the mission." Her father patted her hand. "You don't understand Carlos. He's an aristocrat of Latin extraction. It offends something deep inside him that a white woman should perform any labour which might be termed menial. He visualises all the horrors to which you might be subjected. 36

The fact that you are young and untrained emphasises his contention. It's one of the things about him which you have to accept." "He's the most stubborn, aggravating man I ever met! He's cold and fiery and sarcastic." "And withal exquisitely polite and charming," the doctor completed, unmoved. "Remember his stormy ducal ancestry and be thankful his mother was a Scot." Fenella helped herself to salad and broke a paozinho, one of the tiny golden bread rolls which the servant turned out by the dozen every day. They were crisp and deliciously flavoured. She took a curl of butter from the dish which reposed in a bed of ice cubes, and nodded acquiescence to Antonio, who stood nearby with a jug of iced fruit juice. When the boy had filled her glass and departed, she said, "Are we going to the Quinta next Sunday ?" Her father nodded. "Carlos has invited us. Before you came he used to attend the late morning mission service about once a month, and invariably I went back with him afterwards, and reported on the health of his men and general conditions at the reserve. But apparently next Sun day's luncheon is arranged entirely for your benefit. He wants you to meet some of the young people of the town." She laid down her fork. "Why in the world should he bother to do that?" "He didn't explain," her father said patiently, "but he probably feels that to introduce you to families who will almost certainly add your name to their invitation lists might make up for his uncompromising refusal to allow you in the clinic. The action is typical of Carlos. Now get on and finish your lunch, my dear." Fenella thought this explanation a likely one. Also, there was the matter of his cousin, Antonie, whose interests were to be expanded. Antonie. The way Carlos pronounced the name it sounded soft and seductive. Idly, she wondered what he would make of "Fenella," and concluded that he would probably draw out the second syllable, and tack an "h" on to the end as he did with "senhorita." But it could never have the wooing smoothness of "Antonie." A fact which Fenella, rather obscurely, found vaguely unsatisfactory. 37

She felt the same reluctance to meet the cousin from Lisbon as she had experienced before making the acquaintance of Carlos himself. Why did he have to haul her in to befriend the girl? What could the other young folk of Machada do that might hurt his precious relative? By the time Antoine did arrive Carlos might have forgotten his request. Fenella was beginning to hope so. On Saturday the air mail arrived, bringing a letter from Aunt Anna which Fenella read with absolute enjoyment. The peonies and roses were out in the Gloucestershire garden and a cuckoo had spent a whole distracting day in the lime tree. The hens were not laying too well, possibly because their meal-times had become erratic now that Fenella was not there to supervise their feeding. Old Mrs. Benton still paused in her polishing to spill the village news, which was much the same as ever, except that a local steeplechase had brought some notabilities to the district and given Aunt Anna one or two grand ideas for tankard decoration. Mr. Gilson, the middle-aged schoolmaster, had not broken his habit of calling in on Thursday afternoons for a cup of tea. "In fact he came twice last week," wrote Aunt Anna. "The second time on Saturday morning when I was in the studio engrossed in a peach of a design for a sandwich set. I could have slain him, but instead I had to make him a cup of coffee!" Recalling her aunt's casual treatment of her persistent suitor, Fenella smiled with sympathy for the man. Mr. Gilson had never proposed marriage; he was too certain of being refused, and it would be frightful to imperil his friendship with the clever, artistic Miss Harcourt. Mr. Gilson didn't seem to realise the extent of his own attainments. He was headmaster of the Grammar School and had lectured with success on social economy. He had acquired several degrees, a snug villa and a reputation for rose culture. But he had never acquired a wife. Aunt Anna laughed about him, but never unkindly; she had even admitted that she worked with more precision on Thursdays, when his scholarly presence was expected. Fenella slipped the letter into her own drawer in her father's desk, and walked over to the mission for the local mail. Oddly enough, among the few letters for Dr. Harcourt was one to Fenella, from the person who reminded her 38

of Aunt Anna because she was the same age yet so different —Miss Brean. The smart little woman of independent means was still having a whale of a time in Lourenco Marques as the guest of a consular official and his wife, but she had every intention, she assured Fenella, of coming to Machada when the joys of the city were exhausted. Though both letters had pleased Fenella, each left her with a sense of detachment from the outside world. Here in Machada life was vivid and real, whether one dreamed beneath a jacaranda or strolled sight-seeing among the lovely cupolaed buildings near the church, or went for motor rides along the roads between coconut palms and sugar cane, the oil-bearing plantations of castor bush and jikungu, the rice fields and acres of healthy sisal. The sun, filtered by the heavy branches of a casuarina or a mafurra tree, sank into one's blood and bones, and wind whispered in the palms; the sky arched above, eternally ultra-marine till the purple wings of dusk closed in from the east. The nights were sweet with scents and song. Machada was beautiful, incredibly so at this season when storms were past and the main harvests gathered. Any other place in the world must be pallid by comparison. Austin arrived at the doctor's house late that afternoon. He came upon Fenella lying in the striped canvas hammock on the side veranda, with an unread book dangling from her hand, and he stood over her, grinning. "Ravishing," he pronounced. "It's a dreadful waste, your being here alone. Don't move. I can't stay long." "Have you coaxed someone else to give you dinner this week?" she asked. "A party," he explained. "Somebody or other's birthday. You can come if you like." "No, thanks." "May I drop in to-morrow?" "Yes, any time after four," she answered, swinging gently. "We're lunching at the Quinta." He whistled softly and teetered back on his heels. "Keep a tight hold on your heart, Fenella, and concentrate your girlish enthusiasms on the inanimate Fall for him and you'll bruise yourself." "Don't worry," she said serenely. "I'm not likely to compete with the crowd. Can you wait for a cup of tea?" 39

"I'd like to, but I'm booked to look in on some people for a sundowner, and after that I have to hasten to my garret and change for this blamed party. I came to tell you that there's a festa next Wednesday evening. You promised to attend one with me." "So I will!" She stopped swinging and sparkled at him. "What do I wear?" "A thin frock—semi-evening, don't they call it? A flower in your hair, a mantilha." "Where will I get a mantilha." "You can buy them but they're expensive, and you won't have much use for one afterwards. I've got a red thing which I intended posting to one of those English aunts and never did. You can borrow it." "My colouring is all wrong." She was becoming excited. "But I could use darker make-up and blacken my lashes and brows—not terribly but just enough to disguise a fair skin. The mantilha will hide most of my hair. It sounds grand, Austin. Will you drive in specially from the camp?" "Naturally, but that's easily handled, and I can return there before dawn the next morning. There'll be no bother about that. An evening festa starts about dusk but they don't warm up till an hour after. This one is to be held in the gardens at the end of the Avenida Paiva Manso. The band plays near the lake and they crop the grass like a bowling-green for dancing. I'll come for you at seven." "Can't you make it earlier and have a meal with us?" He laughed. "No. And don't you eat, either. There'll be heaps of delectable food, and wine galore. By the way," he winked. "I shouldn't say anything about it to the senhor. He might not approve." He tugged at the straying curl of her hair. "If I don't get over to-morrow I'll see you on Wednesday. So long." Fenella didn't watch him go but she heard the roar of his car. She crossed her arms under her head and stretched, comfortably. Her time was beginning to fill out with absorbing interests. To-night, Lario Santos from next door was bringing Nurse Silva to dinner, and afterwards the Westwoods would come in for some music and gossip. On Monday, she and her father were due to dine with the Seixas family a couple of hundred yards away, and Dr. Harcourt's mail had contained an invitation to a film show 40

in the Hotel de cidade, which was the splendid white, cloistered building on the Avenida used by the town council. She had even prevailed upon the houseboy to take a night off each week, so that she could spend a delightful hour or two preparing an English meal. And there was the length of coral-pink brocade she was fashioning into a cocktail blouse for Aunt Anna's birthday .. . and dozens of smaller pleasures. Remembering her happiness on the boat in anticipation of the long vacation with her father in strange and thrilling surroundings, it seemed to Fenella that her expectations had not only materialised but been surpassed. Had caution been part of her nature she might have paused to wonder and be a little apprehensive of so much felicity. Being Fenella, she made the most of it and drowsed contentedly till Antonio came out to inform her that the bath was ready. The evening was a success. Lario sang and his small, sleek-haired fiancee sat near him, her brown eyes smoky with contemplation of the past or future. Mrs. Westwood talked and her husband played bezique with Dr. Harcourt. At eleven Fenella went sleepily to bed. Sunday mornings at the mission followed a pattern. At nine the native workers on the estate, their women and elder children assembled for an open-air service in Bantu. Mr. Westwood addressed them slowly, occasionally raising a concerted smile; and always, towards the end of his sermon his voice became strong and impassioned. Fenella noticed the swift reaction of the audience, the devotion in their bearing and the almost abstracted quietness of their dispersal. Then the smaller children assembled and sang Bantu hymns, after which they heard a parable from Mrs. Westwood. At eleven-thirty followed a service in the mission for the white residents. When Fenella came back to the house at twelve-thirty her father was swiftly compiling a report for Senhor Pereira. "He hasn't asked for one recently—probably he's satisfied with the general health at the reserve—but he's entitled to know how his money is being spent. I shall be ready in ten minutes." Fenla went off to wash and comb up her hair. At her dressing-table she used a light dusting of powder and a 41

rub of lipstick. In the breeze from the window the green silk tailored dress felt cool over her skin, and though it was difficult to become accustomed to wearing a hat every time one went into the open air, she had to admit that the wide-brimmed white straw enhanced the rich glow imparted to her cheeks by the sun. When at last they set out for the Quinta, Fenella looked cool and challenging, but an exhilarating warmth coursed through her body and her eyes were bright as jewels in firelight.

42

CHAPTER FOUR THEY were the last arrivals at the Quinta. Apparently Carlos had brought the five other guests from town in his car some time during the morning. When Fenella and her father got out of the two-seater Carlos was in the courtyard, bowing slightly and smiling that suave, aloof smile as he greeted Fenella and shook the doctor's hand. He mounted the long marble steps between them, his fingers light on her elbow till they were on the terrace. He had a way with him that made one feel special, and wanted. Three dark-haired young women, wearing stylish linens and reclining in deep chairs, were introduced as Bianca, Beatriz and Helene. Fenella did not assimilate their surnames, nor those of the two young men who straightened from the terrace wall and bowed low when Carlos presented them. It was quite a while before she could differentiate Armando from Joao. Wines were served, and Fenella found herself seated with a polite Portuguese on each side. Carlos looked at her across the low table, his eyes and mouth faintly amused. He snapped open the monogrammed cigarette case and leaned over. "You will smoke, senhora?" Fenella would have liked a cigarette. There is nothing so potent as the careless kindling and subsequent longdrawn exhalation of grey smoke to restore an uneasy balance to something approaching normal. But she was aware of the dark, enthralled glances of the senhoritas as they awaited her reply, and the expectant and adulatory presence of her immediate neighbours. So she. answered, "No, thank you, senhor," and sipped her wine. The three Portuguese girls were not talkative. Fenella gathered that Armando was the brother of one of them, but the two young men received scant attention. It was upon Carlos that the velvety eyes rested most frequently and to him that their few remarks were directed in soft, supplicating tones. "You t'eenk so, Carlos?" 43

"Minha fe, Carlos, but that is funny!" "I would like to read the book you speak of, Carlos. You must lend it to me." They spoke English awkwardly; obviously they would rather have babbled along in their own tongue, and Fenella could not blame them for that. Presently one of the magenta-uniformed servants led the way along the terrace to the open double doors of the dining-room. The table, scintillating with cutlery and glass and rioting all down the centre with red and yellow flowers, had been so arranged that everyone had a view of the gardens and could feel the faint breeze which stirred the palmettoes on the terrace. Carlos, at the head, with Fenella his nearest companion to the right and Helene to the left, gave equal attention to both. He was the considerate host, the charming friend of everyone. Conversation never lapsed. Before the meal ended Helene had rather shyly invited Fenella to her mother's cocktail party which was to be held before the cinema show next Friday, and had artlessly mentioned that "Armando would be there," for all the world as if Fenella were suddenly headlong in love with the man at first sight. Fenella must have reflected her surprise, for Carlos laughed a little. "Others are puzzled by our swift match-making Helene. They do these things differently and with great caution. The English do not allow themselves to fall in love till friendship begins to develop dangerously sharp corners which can only be smoothed by a closer, more intimate relationship A Portuguese knows the first moment he is in love . . . like that." He snapped his fingers. "It burns in his brain and stings in his blood. The English come to it with painful slowness." The dark girl demanded incredulously, "Is that so, Miss Harcourt? Is it not very dull?" Fenella's smile had a hint of helplessness. "I'm afraid my experience is limited, but I believe marriage in England is just as exciting to the participants as marriage in any other country." "Perhaps you will learn about marriage in this country at first hand," Helene suggested, without much enthusiasm. Fenella shrugged away a suspicion that the other girl's 44

haste to couple her with Armando had been for the benefit of Carlos. Immediately after coffee on the terrace one of the Pereira cars appeared in the mosaic courtyard, with a chauffeur at the wheel. The five young Portuguese said good-bye, nodding and smiling as they went down the steps. The two young men bowed and made neat little speeches. Carlos saw them into the car and stood back, his hand upraised, as it glided away. When he returned to the terrace Fenella was adjusting her hat. "You are not leaving yet!" he exclaimed. "Siesta is the custom here, but we can rest on the terrace . . . unless, perhaps, the doctor would prefer to be within doors, in the cool of the morning-room?" "I believe I would," said Robert. "I haven't yet persuaded Fenella that siesta is a good, sane habit in hot countries." "Then she and I will sit on the side terrace, and I will give her a lesson in the history of Mozambique. That will both punish and entertain you, senhorita." The "senhorita," Fenella rather thought, indicated a very slight degree of intimacy among the local Portuguese. When her father had re-entered the Quinta, Carlos escorted her round to the terrace above the clear green pool which shone dully in a greener lawn. Fenella paused at the top of the flower-encrusted balustrade. "Is this your bathing-pool, senhor?" "Yes. It is old, but I use it myself every morning. It is also convenient when I have guests from the coast staying at the Quinta. They do not miss their swim." He turned and indicated a long basket seat heaped with cushions in a multitude of colours. "Let us relax while you tell me what you thought of my young friends." Fenella subsided and again took off her hat. A shake of the head loosened the amber hair from her temples. She smiled at him from her corner of the seat. "They're delightful, but I shall never really know them." Carlos had taken the other corner of the seat and crossed his white-trousered legs. Out again came the cigarette case. "That is a very grave statement. Why will you never know them?" 45

"I have no Portuguese, and though they speak English remarkably well, few people are completely at ease in any but their own language." His shoulders lifted, and one brow rose higher than the other. "My language is Portuguese. Do you consider, then, that you and I will never know each other?" "You're different," she answered unguardedly. "You're half-Scottish." "So you have learned that much," he said without pause, though his accent had changed. "A cigarette, now that there are no onlookers?" They were the long fat kind he smoked himself. Fenella shook her head and once more said, "No, thank you, senhor." He selected a cigarette for himself and slipped the case back into his pocket. "It is time you called me Carlos, as others do." She met the dark grey eyes and instantly looked away from them, unsure whether they quizzed or mocked. "Not at once, perhaps," he added reasonably, "but as soon as you feel it will not be too great a strain on your English reserve. I would like you to become used to it before Antonie comes." "I'll try," she said distantly, loathing the flush which was creeping up from her neck. "And now the history of Mozambique, please." He laughed briefly, with just a trace of mockery. "You are a paradox, pequeno—a rather interesting paradox. You are outspoken and have no tricks. You do not use your hands and eyes to beguile, nor tease with your lips. Your manner is uncompromisingly English. Yet you have an intriguing modesty." He ignited his lighter and as he inhaled his lean jaw twitched. "The history of Mozambique, my child, is glittering and colourful, but to me the present has always more richness, more sparkle. For instance, my grandfather courted the Marqueza de Bordone on this terrace. She had been married only a day when her husband was killed by a jealous rival. She came to Mozambique, so young and lovely in her distress that my grandfather, then a man of thirty, was immediately captured." 46

Fenella could see them, the last Marquez de Castilho Pereira and the beautiful young senhora, the man ardent, the woman infuriatingly elusive in her grief. "Did they marry?" she enquired. "Indeed, yes. My father was their son. But that romance took place over seventy years ago. It has an old, musky perfume. To-day has the fresh scent of gardenias, and a vital sap in its veins. We will not discuss yesterday, senhorita." Negligently, he flicked away half an inch of ash. "Why is it that you make no attempt to learn Portuguese?" "You yourself warned me that it's difficult, and I'm only here on holiday." "But think of the fun you are missing with young men like Armando! That one admires you very much." "Perhaps if I could speak his language he wouldn't. The unknown is proverbially dangerous and dazzling." "To a point that is true. But a Portuguese cannot make love in English You have not the words." He was openly smiling, his distinctive features pleasantly jeering. "You do not wish to be made love to—I am aware of that. You are afraid to infuse heat into your cold blood." "That should have the approval of the Scot in you," she said coolly. "In my attitude towards love, senhorita, I am more Portuguese than Scottish. Though it is my firm belief that the Scots are fully endowed with all the emotions; otherwise their population would have dwindled away." Smiling, he raised a hand. "I beg your pardon. It should have occurred to me that mention of such a subject would bring red into your cheeks. It is very odd how you English girls are so free yet so inhibited. When you talk of love you envisage only the reverent kiss, the gentle embrace; there is apparently very little room in your imagination for passion. Your men must be extremely patient." "They're English, too," she reminded him, above the accelerated beating of her heart. She had thought the topic safely by-passed till he put an unexpected query. • "You have never been in love, have you?" "Why . . . no, senhor." "Do you think you would be aware of it if you were?" 47

The flush deepened somewhat, as she retorted," Considering such an upheaval happens so seldom in a lifetime it's quite likely that I would." "It is just as likely that you would mistake a passing fancy for the lasting emotion," he suggested. "That needn't disturb you, senhor," she said, rather sharply. "May we walk?" He stood up, his mouth sardonic. "But of course, if the matter is embarrassing." He became sarcastically conventional. "Some day you must stroll in the gardens; they are best in the early morning or just before dark. I would like you to see the orchards—we grow every known tropical and sub-tropical fruit—and our market-gardens, though uninteresting in aspect, are extremely useful. Now, it might be too hot for you. Come with me to the chapel." His manner withdrawn and slightly haughty, he took her down the terrace, passing the rococo facade of the back entrance without a glance in its direction. They descended stone steps, paused in the spray from a fountain which was even larger than the one in front, and followed round an elaborate stone parapet to another flight of steps which ended at a paved path between thick, shapely trees. In a few minutes the chapel was visible, its octagonal patterned dome brilliant against the sky. As they came closer Fenella could see that the outer walls were covered with blue azulejos, and above the fine baroque doorway a window was framed by sculptured motifs. Inside, the chapel was just as perfect an example of classical architecture. Gilt carvings reached high between the windows and the ceiling was beautifully panelled and, painted. The urns of flowers might have been placed there five minutes ago. Carlos did no explaining; he merely guided her from one wall to another and from the altar back to the door. As they came out into the shade of the trees, he said quietly, "Since the family settled in Mozambique my father has been the only Pereira not to marry from the house in this chapel. He married in England, but even he went through a second ceremony here, six months later." Fenella could think of no comment, so she went on moving beside him, noticing the puddles of pink and blue balsams on each hand, and the splendid lines of the Quints. 48

Agostinhos as it came into view. The man at her side had become as uncomfortably chilly as a berg wind. Back on the terrace Robert Harcourt was awaiting them. "You will have tea?" Carlos said. "I think not," replied the doctor. "I intended going through this report with you, but it's getting late and there's a case I'm watching. Fends, will type it for you and I'll send it over to-morrow." "No." Carlos brushed the report aside. "You have my confidence, doctor, and anything you need may be ordered in the usual way. I hope it will not be long before you and your daughter come again." With his unfailing charm, he saw them into Dr. Harcourt's two-seater. His farewell was as cordial as the one he had waved to the guests who had left earlier. They were well on the road to the mission before Dr. Harcourt slanted a glance at her, and said, "What has Carlos been saying to make you so silent?" "Nothing, particularly—it's the way he says it. He wants me to learn Portuguese so that I shall know when I'm being made love to." Her father was smiling. "I hadn't thought of that. What are you going to do about it?" "He accused me of being uncompromisingly English, and that's how I shall remain," she said firmly. "I had to give up working at the clinic at the senhor's command, but I'm dashed if I'll struggle with his language simply because he has an inflated idea of its importance." "I don't quite see what grounds you have for animosity, my dear." She murmured a sort is disclaimer. To herself she admitted that her hostility towards Carlos fluctuated. His urbanity and self-assurance were not really annoying; they were part of the man and his position, as was his untiring politeness. His domineering was not of the bullying type; he merely spoke half a dozen clipped syllables in those slightly foreign tones and one disobeyed at one's peril. But that sly probing into one's emotions was not to be tolerated. Let him save it for the doe-eyed senhoritas. Fenella recalled the discreet yet revealing behaviour of those three young Portuguese women. "Yes, Carlos . . ." 49

"No, Carlos . . ." as if they wanted nothing in ,the world so much as to please him. And they weren't the only ones by a long way. No, there was no pinning down or labelling her antipathy for the man. There were moments, in his presence, when it prickled over her skin and made her teeth tight, and others, such as that outside the chapel, when her dislike seemed transformed into a personal inadequacy, and all she wanted was to be away from him, to forget him. His was a most upsetting presence. Next day Fenella looked through her clothes for something suitable for the festa. Recollecting all she had heard about such occasions, she felt certain that only one of her dresses would do, a black taffeta with a small tight bodice and a voluminous skirt. It was ankle-length, but she decided to shorten it to mid-calf and restore the length later, if it became necessary, with the air of a frill of black tulle. She got down to the necessary alternation right away. Except that she could see a group of piccaninnies sitting on the grass at the mission and drinking from mugs, it was like old times to be sitting on the veranda working with her needle. Occasionally she looked up at the dark, glossy foliage of the magnolias, with waxen blooms pasted on them. It had been an inspiration on the part of someone—probably Carlos, she wryly conceded—to have the mission and the houses built within that arm of magnolias. The trees must have been there long before the mission was thought of. The boy brought iced tea and sweet buns flavoured with his favourite cinnamon, and Mrs. Westwood laboured up to share them. She admired the black dress and confessed unreservedly to an aversion from Portuguese revels. "As a people they're gay and lovable," she allowed. "But they're never tired. The dancing and singing and drinking of wine may be all right in Portugal, where it's less hot, but here it is too much." "Not for the Portuguese," said Fenella lightly. "Portugal is warm, too, you know. I love the way they carry their customs into their colonies." Mrs. Westwood nodded, thoughtfully. "Even Senhor Pereira encourages the old way of living, and one must acknowledge that it makes for larger families and keeps 50

down the divorce rate. You've heard that his cousin is coming to Machada?" Patently, Mrs. Westwood was sure that Fenella hadn't heard, for she went on volubly, "I got it from the Quinta bailiff. He came down about some gardening tools I'd requisitioned for the boys, and stayed for dinner. The cousin is a woman, the young and pretty daughter of the de Bordone family. Her name is Antonie de Bordone, so the bailiff said. All the servants at the Quinta make no secret of being overjoyed. They are very anxious that the senhor should marry and start a family. It seems that the usual age at which the Pereira men marry is around thirty, and the senhor is nearly thirty-four." Fenella raised her eyes from her needlework. "Is this cousin the senhor's fiancee?" "I think she's almost bound to be. Why else would he invite her here?" "Her family might wish her to travel." Mrs. Westwood trilled. "Don't you believe it, my dear. These old Portuguese families keep their daughters very much under lock and key until there's a match in the offing. In any case, the girl must be coming at the senhor's invitation, which can have only one interpretation." "It's two years since Senhor Pereira was last in Portugal." "That doesn't mean a thing. There could have been a betrothal then. In fact, it must be so. Nothing extra.. ordinary about such a procedure, of course. Arranged marriages often take place here in Mozambique, and they appear to turn out happily enough." The older woman chuckled. "A good many will weep when the senhor marries. I'd give a lot to listen in at some of the afternoon sewing parties during the next week or so." Fenella's brain was repeating the surname. De Bordone. Carlos had mentioned his grandfather's marriage to the Marqueza de Bordone, so the girl, Antonie, might not be a first cousin—which made the marriage all the more probable. Perhaps it was not mere conversational coincidence which had led Carlos to talk of that old romance; he could have been looking ahead, to his own imminent romance and marriage. Mrs. Westwood, who could never relinquish the spicier gossip till all its ramifications were exhausted, continued for some minutes in the same strain, and when she rose to 51

go, Fenella folded the black taffeta and went indoors for a hat. She walked down to the clinic, paused to smile at two young Tonga mothers who wore tall head-dresses and an abundance of bright bead-work and copper rings. It was impossible to converse with the native women; besides their own dialect they knew only a few words of pidgin Portuguese. For a couple of hours she worked with the dispenser, but by lunch-time the air had become so burdened with heat and tiresome insects that a long break was agreed upon. No relief came till an evening breeze rustled in the palms and detached a few petals from the shrubs in the garden. The two following days were similarly hot and cloudless, and nearly as breathless. A new moon had set in, clear-cut and of amazing brilliance, a huge, sickle-shaped diamond in a maze of smaller jewels against a pall of purple velvet. It showed itself for a surprisingly short time before sliding to rest. Though the moon rose early it was not yet up on Wednesday evening when Fenella prepared herself for the festa. The fact that she had owned the black taffeta for nearly three years did not diminish her pleasure in its perfect fit and stark contrast with her skin. The snug waist-line and full, shortened skirt were just right for an open-air party, and she decided not to use much make-up, after all. One is either a dark and beautiful Portuguese, or one isn't. Fenella wasn't. Austin turned up on time, and he spread the scarlet lace mantilha over a table for her inspection. The close pattern of small flowers and leaves was marred here and there by the depredations of moths, of which there were myriads in the district, but it draped softly over the pale hair and contrasted vividly with the white flower which Fenella secured behind her ear. "There's mystery in a mantilha," Austin commented, standing back admiringly. "Due, I think, to the fact that it reveals tantalising glimpses of silky hair and sweet little ears. Without conceit, I unhesitatingly declare that we English are a credit to continental clothes." He was undoubtedly handsome in homespun trousers which belled at the ankles and were tight at the hips, a full white silk shirt and a square of blue silk knotted into 52

a tight little cap over his head. His darkly tanned features

and the gold rings clipped over the lobes of his ears completed the swashbuckling picture. By the time they had said good-bye to Dr. Harcourt and the sports car was descending at its customary reckless speed towards the lights of the town, Fenella had reached a state of happy turbulence. She was bent on a thrilling new adventure, the air was warm and languorous, the frangipani in the hedges gushed an intoxicating perfume, and overhead shone the startlingly brilliant moon. An exotic setting for an exotic occasion. Everyone seemed to be going to the festa. The tiled pavements of the Avenida were thronged with young men dressed in the style Austin had affected, and russetcheeked women in peasant skirts and cotton blouses, black curls bunching below gay bandanas. They were the artisans, the farmers and plantation foremen, with their families. The stream of cars carried the white-clad cavalheiros from the old part of the town, their wives and daughters who looked animated and lovely in bright clothes and mantilhas secured by gem-set combs. As she stepped from Austin's sports car, Fenella thought the whole scene enchanting and incredible. The pillared entrance glittered in concealed flood-lighting, and the gardens were festooned from tree to tree with thousands of many-hued lamps. Each side of the broad central path salchicheiros, those vendors of a dozen kinds of delicious sausage, and other stall-holders who offered pate and paozinhos, slices of sucking pig and chicken, dressed crayfish, sweet moulds, crystallised fruits and other toothsome but unidentifiable delicacies, maintained a merry bawling. Down by the lake the band was playing in a semi-circle of worshipping piccanins, who did not jerk to the lively rhythm of the rondo as they did to their own music. They were happily curious and somewhat apathetic through a surfeit of free sausages and hunks of broa. The brown cheeks bulged with candy but their jaws scarcely moved. The dancers twirled and cheered, clapped and whirled again into a Portuguese dance. Hastily, Fenella disposed of the small tasty heap on her fluted paper plate. Austin got rid of the plates, tossed the tiny tissue napkins into the air, and compelled her in among the dancers. 53

After a minute he said, "This is great. Where did you learn it?" "It's the nearest thing to a polka," she laughed breathlessly. "And you know it so well that I can't go wrong. Even a donkey could dance well with you." "Thanks, but I won't try it out. Get ready for the finale." It came on a blare of music, a sweep of skirts, as the men took the girls by the waist and swung them clear of the ground in mad circles, and high-pitched, panting laughter as the guitars broke off. No sooner had Fenella recovered her balance than she was impelled both by Austin's arm and the pressure of the crowd, to the lake side. A flower-decked boat had floated into view, and a white figure bearing a basket of blossoms appeared at each end of it. The whole thing looked like a hand carving from a gigantic slab of marble. "The Battle of Flowers a la Machada," Austin whispered to her. "They set great store by this. Each flower has some sort of significance to the young and unmarried—which includes you and me, Fenella, and most of those who are milling around us. Last year I caught a flame flower which is said to mean love that burns itself out, so cannot last." "Did it happen?" she asked mischievously. His smile was lazy. "It's always happening, my sweet. I'll wish orange-blossom for you, Fenella—a luscious sprig with every bud intact. You're that type." Now, she could only see above the heads the white garlands strung out like bunting from the masts, but a long joyful shout and the beginning of a mad scramble indicated that the "battle" was on. Her reaching hand caught and grasped the cool trumpet of an orchid. Austin had kept his hands pocketed, and he raised disapproving brows at the flower in her palm. "That's a far cry from orange-blossom. A pale yellow orchid with a scarlet centre quite definitely ringed with the greenest of green spots. Tut, tut, Fenella. Such a bloom is no symbol for a gentle English maid." "Do you know its meaning?" "Scarlet is always love of the passionate kind, and green hate—also of the passionate variety. And in a yellow ground!" He clucked again and blew the orchid from her hand to the grass. "Work it out for yourself, my 54

infant, and determine not to be entangled in anything so shattering." Fenella laughed and took the arm he offered. The flowerthrowing custom was charming, and foolish. Her heart was free and singing, thank heaven. After they had danced again Austin found them a wine table under a deodar tree. Fenella sat down and leaned back, and almost at once she stiffened. Several tables away she saw the erect back of Carlos Pereira. He appeared to be entertaining a party—probably from Alimane, for at least two of the group were English girls from the port. While she watched a man and a woman came up. Carlos bowed, lightly touched his lips to a white hand, and made introductions. Then they were all seated and the wine flowed. Fenella felt glad that Austin had his back that way. She hadn't thought for a moment that Carlos would be here; nor, she was convinced, had Austin. The senhor's presence, and that of the English women who had not yet learned of the existence of Antonie de Bordone, was a shadow upon the joy of the evening. She remembered the orchid lying crushed on the grass; an emblem of love, hate and jealousy. The battle of flowers was not even amusing. It was merely stupid.

55

CHAPTER FIVE A PORTLY, perspiring Portuguese brought a seven-litre, wicker-covered flagon of wine and two very large glasses, which he filled with the thick, ruby liquid. He made a guttural sound of ecstasy. "It is a good festa, eh, senhora?" he said in Portuguese. "We have too few of these merry celebrations, but to-night everybody is here, the great and the small. We will dance and sing till to-morrow morning." "Not if you distribute wine in such quantities," Austin answered. "At this rate we'll all be flat across your wine tables before twelve." The man shook with disproportionate delight in the joke and passed on. "The great and the small," Austin echoed in English. "All the few hundreds of Machada's inhabitants, minus the babies, who have been left in the care of their African nannies. On the whole they're a grand people. Their lightheartedness is much to be envied. In fact, if I were the marrying kind I might settle here." "Are you under contract?" she asked. "I was for the first year, but when it expired Carlos never insisted on a renewal, and I'd just as soon be free. You've no idea how devitalising are the smell of coconut oil and the sight of rice fields. To you, the palm nuts and maize and mangoes are the fascinating products of a romantic country, but they're my living, and I've never yet met with romance in a field of paddy rice!" Fenella was not listening to him very closely. She had unfastened the scarlet mantilha and draped it about her shoulders as a protection against mosquitoes, and the breeze off the lake whipped her hair into tufts of corn-coloured silk. Abstractedly, her fingers played about her glass. Without intention, she watched Helene, regal on the arm of an escort, greet Carlos as she passed his table. The dark eyes looked back more than once. So did those of several other young ladies. What a sickening business it was, this perpetual silent pleading on the part of many for the attentions of one 56

man. Not that Carlos himself seemed conscious of it. Fenella grudgingly owned that there was nothing in his bearing to suggest anything but respect and friendliness for the women with whom he came into contact. Perhaps he didn't consider himself as a man to be desired above other men, or perhaps he did not realise how irresistible is the apparently unconquerable male, particularly when he happens to be overlord of a castle, a town and two hundred square miles of prodigally rich lands. Yet one felt that nothing whatever escaped him. There, at the wine table under the deodar, with Austin chattering idly a yard away and a tremendous noise of gaiety encompassing her, Fenella wondered what Carlos really thought about women and marriage, whether he regarded marriage as an expedient and women necessary in so far as marriage could not be accomplished without them. His lean, clever face and shrewd grey eyes, those strong, fleshless hands, all denoted a man of exceptional abilities and intelligence. His years and wide experience added authority and wisdom to an already austere and dominating character. Re was fanatically proud of being Portuguese and a Pereira. Austin had once declared that Carlos would not marry except for love, but Fenella believed that his love of race went too deep to be subjugated by his personal desires. Difficult to dip far below his surface . "But this is a glorious surprise, Austin, in the middle of the week!" Rather guiltily, Fenella looked up at the glowing young woman whose gaze was bent upon Austin Frankland. He jumped to his feet and, for one usually so debonair, his smile was awkward and not in the least welcoming. "Good evening. May I present Miss Harcourt . . . the Senhorita de Gardena." Fenella said, "I've heard about you, senhorita. Won't you join us?" "The senhorita is with her parents," Austin put in hurriedly. "They'll wonder where she's got to. I'll take you back to them, Maria." As they moved away the girl was speaking rapidly and vivaciously in Portuguese. In the shadows she slipped a 57

hand into his arm. In no time at all, Austin had returned, ruefully shaking his head. "Maria frightens me, she's so reckless, and Portuguese parents won't stand for that kind of thing. Her mother's a dragon, and her father has already given me to understand that his future son-in-law must have money." "Poor Austin. I like her. Is she the present flame flower?" "She's awfully sweet," he admitted, "but one doesn't fool with a girl of her class, and I can't afford to be serious about her." "But you do wish you could?" "I suppose so, though I'm not the sort to dwell upon impossibilities." His rugged features were veiled by cigarette smoke as he added, "To be candid, I often wish I'd never met her. You can't help feeling that way about something you want and can't have." Fenella's expression was gentle. "Rotten luck, Austin. It may not be entirely hopeless if she cares for you." "You don't know the Portuguese!" He had exclaimed emphatically yet without raising his voice. But neither he nor Fenella had been aware of Senhor Pereira's close proximity to their table at that moment— not till he said in cool, detached accents: "It is my opinion that you have even less knowledge of the Portuguese than Miss Harcourt, my friend. Otherwise you would not take the risk of leaving the camp without a European in charge." In the strange light Fenella could not be sure whether Austin coloured. Certainly his manner changed, and he stood up and thrust back his chair with unusual haste. "I didn't see you, senhor. Miguel was at the camp when I came away at five-thirty." "Miguel is here," said Carlos. "You knew that he had permission to attend this festa as a celebration of his wedding anniversary." "Yes, I did know, but I'd already invited Fenella when I remembered, and I didn't care to let her down as this was to be her first festa." "So?" It was less a query than a sarcastic comment. "You were at liberty to use a native messenger in order to acquaint Miss Harcourt with your changed plans. Her first festa need only have been postponed." He paused and 58

calmly added, "You will drive to the camp at once, Frankland, and for your sake I trust there has been no trouble during your absence. I will see that Miss Harcourt is taken care of." Austin summoned a little of his former confidence. "Very well, senhor. So long, Fenella. I'm awfully sorry it turned out this way." His departure was almost nonchalant; he even stopped a few yards away to light a cigarette and puff a cloud of smoke. In the flare of his match as he waved it out Fenella saw the absurd gold rings dangling from his ears. She breathed deeply, and looked at Carlos. In the white suit of irreproachable cut, his thick black hair brushed back and his brows faintly arched with mockery as his glance swerved from the receding Austin to the present Fenella, he personified all that she found most irritating. The sarcastic, imperious senhor. But she waited for him to speak. She did not dare to utter the fierce resentment which burned not far from the tip of her tongue, and to attempt banality was beyond her powers at present. "Please be seated again, senhorita. We will have some wine and try to be pleasant with each other." "If you will allow me the use of your car," she said distantly, "I would prefer to go home." "That would be unfair to me. I am not your enemy unless you wish it that way." He turned to the hovering waiter. "Wine, Alvares, and a dish of your savouries." "Certamente, senhor. Whatever the senhor demands!" Against her will, Fenella slid back into her basket-chair. Carlos sat opposite, where Austin had been, and he jested lightly with Alvares in Portuguese while the wine was served and the snacks chosen from a trolley. When the table was secluded once more, Carlos raised his glass. "To your eyes, senhorita. May they not sparkle in vain for the Englishman." Again she quelled her anger. An outburst would get her nowhere at all with Carlos Pereira; he was too expert in dealing with human failings. With a trace of his own satire, she said evenly, "You misunderstand, senhor. A woman's eyes do not sparkle only with love." 59

"In other words you are angry . . . but that is obvious, and reprehensible. You are angry because while the festa is still young I have sent Frankland back to the camp. So much wasted and muddled emotion is a pity." "You're being very blunt, senhor!" He lifted one shoulder. "With no intention to offend you. It was your father's duty to warn you against Frankland, not mine. But the good doctor is out of touch with such things, and you, if I may say so, are not worldly enough to discriminate between the shallow and the deep. I confess to being disappointed in you." "Because I count Austin Frankland as a friend?" He drank some more wine before replying, with unmistakable deliberation, "I rather think that you regard him as more than a friend. You are bewitched by his nonsense, captivated by his veneer of charm, as others have been before you." Restrained contempt hardened his tones. "Did he give you the scarlet mantilha?" By now Fenella was tense with impotent rage. Clearly this attack called for a strong verbal defence on cold, reasoning lines, but she was in no state to conduct one at the moment. She answered swiftly, "Yes, he did." "So?" Again that infuriating inflection which mingled satire with a sneer and tilted at her waning composure. "Frankland has been here long enough to comprehend our customs. The scarlet mantilha is rarely worn, and never by the young. The black or white is more suitable." Fenella sprang up. "This is not my country, senhor, and I don't have to fall in with your conception of decorum. In England we wear what best becomes us, not the fashions dictated by our ancestors . . ." Carlos, too, was standing. "We will not stay here to attract the curious," he interrupted curtly. "Come with me." Fenella had scarcely stirred before inflexible fingers closed round her arm, just above the elbow. There was to be no escape. He marched her down the lane between the tables, smiling with fixed politeness upon all who turned his way. To the curtseys of some girls in peasant dress he returned an automatic nod and the same set smile. 60

The dancing had ceased for a while and couples sat about on the grass, listening to a song from Lario and joining in softly as he reached the refrain. In other company Fenella would have paused to listen, but now she was depleted of all energy and enthusiasm for the festa. The arrogance and intolerance of Carlos had shed a blight over the evening. How dare he twit her with being infatuated with Austin! No; twit was too feeble a word to convey the rigid scorn in his manner, the curling distaste of his mouth. His interference in her affairs would have been incredible in any other man Let him think what he liked. Other women might dreamily obey his commands, but she had no intention of allowing him to impose his personality upon her own. And how dangerous and powerful that personality could be she was only now beginning to grasp, when his shoulder was behind hers and an electrical warmth radiated alarmingly from his grip on her arm. They were leaving the lights and following a path which was bordered with heavily scented bushes. Ahead, between two groups of cypresses, the fabulous moon was fast disappearing, and the night air caressed Fenella's hot cheeks as if to remind her that the sheen and serenity of the moon were gifts of bountiful nature. At a marble seat with carved ends and no back he stopped, and dropped his hand. Before he could order her to sit down, Fenella said : "Senhor Pereira, it would be best if I went home now. I have no wish to talk." "You are afraid?" he asked, facing her. "I should have said that you are a girl of great courage, and I already know you to be independent and outspoken." His gesture, a shrug and a movement of one hand, was very foreign. "You are wrong if you think I object to your wearing a mantilha, either in public or elsewhere. A white one would become you, and delicate beauty has never failed to rouse my admiration. But I cannot admire a woman who is captured by cheap banter and the facile flattery which are the stock-in-trade of the adventurer." "I must get along without your admiration," she told him coldly. "Nothing you could say or do would make me break off friendship with Austin Frankland." 61

He drew a sharp, annoyed breath. "You are either purposely mistaking my motive or intrigued with the idea of falling in love with the man." Fenella's chin lifted and her mouth was firm. "If I were falling in love with him it would be no business of yours, Senhor Pereira. Austin is English and so am I. He happens to be employed by you and therefore in no position to ventilate his views, but I'm not bound to Machada in any way. I don't even belong to the mission, except as the visiting daughter of the doctor. I'm not forced by race and tradition to bend the knee to the great senhor, and go all hysterical with gratitude when he deigns to speak to me . . ." In spite of the rising passion within her she broke off, startled at the sudden tightening of the formidable jaw and the tensing of the thin, aristocratic nostrils. Though they were a foot apart she felt his fury as if it were something tangible and gripping. She was unnerved, shaken by the enormity of an offence which she had undoubtedly committed, though its precise outline was obscure. Not that she would have retracted one syllable, but his silence and the rigid, alien cast of his features held a terrifying threat. Her courage, whatever Carlos might think of it, was not equal to a glance up at his eyes. "Por dews," he breathed at last. "You have said enough!" And then Fenella raised her head. The sinking moon showed her the points of fire in his eyes and the savage compression of his lips. She was seized with an involuntary trembling, which ceased as unexpectedly as it had begun. This situation was unbearable; it simply had to be terminated. "It's true," she said, her voice desperately steady. "You may be the despot of Machada, but I am not one of your subjects." The moment it was out Fenella knew she had gone too far. The choice of nouns had been typically impulsive and entirely unwise. From their first meeting she had known that Carlos possessed a ruthless temper, but then she had imagined it cold and governed, the spears of his wrath tipped with ice. Never, in her wildest flights of fancy, had she thought he could look like this—so big and taut, his 62

teeth snapped together in a smile that was antique and violent. Dazedly, she felt the vice of his hands on her shoulders and a raging hot breath across her forehead and his mouth came down quite close to hers. For a moment her eyes closed tightly while she willed sanity into her brain and sinews. It was the most frightening minute she had ever lived through. Then she was released, swaying still from the spent cyclone of his anger. In thick, unfamiliar tones he said, "We will go to the car, Miss Harcourt. Not again by the lake. This way." She walked at his side. There was no guiding touch at her elbow, no amicable exchange of the small coin of conversation; neither was capable of it. Carlos was a tall, striding stranger. Without examining his profile against the subdued radiance of the sky, she knew that it was angular and remote, and that his whole being was vibrant with a strange self-contempt. They left the gardens by a side path which led to a tiled sidewalk between a hedge of smilax and the chain of parked vehicles. There were two Pereira cars. "The chauffeur has been given leave to enjoy the festa till midnight," explained Carlos coolly. "I will drive you myself." Fenella got into her seat, and leaned back while he made certain that her dress would not be caught, and closed the door. She could not relax. Her muscles were unnaturally contracted, and lead filled the space which belonged to her heart. As the car sped along the deserted Avenida Paiva Manso she stared through the windscreen. The saloon was large and wide; a third person could comfortably have sat between them. Carlos drove straight to the mission by the shortest route. When he helped her out he was his impenetrable self once more, except that, in the light from the veranda, lines of tiredness showed at the corners of his eyes, and he kept his glance averted above her head. "I must apologise," he said, "for terminating your first festa so abruptly. Good night, Miss Harcourt." Fenella answered him and went into the house. Fortunately, her father had gone to bed, so she could stay in the lounge till her head cleared and she was more inclined 63

for sleep. Dispiritedly, she lifted the mantilha from her shoulders and folded it. As well as the despondency, she felt emotionally and physically spent. The evening which had started so brightly had ended in a catastrophe of some magnitude, though Fenella could not fathom precisely how it had occurred. She lit a cigarette and immediately squashed it out, snapped off the lights and passed into her bedroom. At the dressing-table she unclasped her necklet and slipped off her watch. She extracted the wilting flower from her hair and remained with it between her fingers while she searched the dark-eyed reflection in the mirror, and asked of it questions which had no answer. What had happened? Her rash words had unleashed a terrible tide of anger which Carlos had controlled just a fraction too late. He would never forgive her, never forget that she had goaded him to the verge of kissing her. Not kissing her as a man kisses the woman he loves. In his rage he had wanted to hurt and chastise, and there is so little a man can do to a woman in such circumstances Fenella backed and sat on the side of the bed to take off her shoes. A weight seemed to have descended upon her head and her heart. By the morning it might have lifted. She hoped so. It so happened that she was blessedly busy for the next few days. Mrs. Westwood was tied to her bed with a severe bout of tick typhus, and though her houseboy was an able nurse and housekeeper, there were many other duties which she begged Fenella to undertake. One of them was superintending the children's midday meal at the mission. This was a pleasing task, for the whole thing was run by two white-aproned native women who were quick to spot lapses of discipline and inflict penalties which were sometimes amusing. Fenella stood near a door and watched the older ones fix bibs upon the smaller and serve the food into deep soup plates. The children ate chopped meat and mealie pap followed by a mixture of prepared fresh fruits. A grave child with her short black wool parted into inchsquare sections and plaited, carefully set aside her slice of pineapple till the mango, banana and papaw were eaten, 64

after which she slowly chewed the pineapple with relish and gave a huge, contented sigh. Others had similar endearing habits. Grace was said, and the girls washed up the plates and spoons while the boys swept the floor and straightened the chairs at the tables ready for lessons. After the play interval Fenella returned to supervise a series of educational games. The class was well-behaved and not inquisitive. Possibly they were feeling the effect of food and the brooding heat of the day—or they might have decided that the effort of understanding her spare pidgin was too exhausting. Fenella found herself wishing that she had a smattering of Portuguese, and thrusting away the wish as if it were treason. Austin did not appear that week-end but Fenella hardly missed him. She was being drawn into the younger set who lived in the few grand houses near the church. Their parents gave sherry parties for them which invariably started at five-thirty and finished at seven; these were a concession to progress which everyone found exhilarating. Fenella liked them, too, once the fear of meeting Carlos was dispersed. Apparently he did occasionally drop in to take a drink and bestow an indulgent smile on the noble youth of Machada, but Fenella never encountered him at such a gathering. It was at the house of a wealthy exporter who had sons and daughters of marrying age that Fenella met Maria de Cardena for the second time. During a pause in a discussion with a journalist who had been educated in Lisbon and was about to join the staff of a well-known paper in Lourenco Marques, she looked up and saw the effervescent Maria laughing gaily with a group nearby. Fenella studied her for a minute, the nicely rounded figure in a tan silk suit, the abundant black wavy hair held back by a diamond bow, the bright pink which mantled the olive skin of her cheeks. She was pretty and full of spirit. When she turned and noticed Fenella the smile stayed on the red lips, but its quality altered. She came over. "Bons dias, Miss Harcourt. It is truly marvellous that we should have the good luck to meet again." Which was extravagant but essentially Maria, as Fenella was eventually to learn. "May I sit with you?" 1083

65

The journalist had already risen and bowed. Sensing that his presence was no longer necessary, he bowed again, and moved away. "You come often to these parties, senhorita?" Maria demanded urgently. "Quite often." Fenella smiled. "I haven't seen you at one before." "No." A shadow chased across the sunny countenance and vanished. "My mother does not care for me to attend them—she considers cocktail parties just a little bit indecoroso—not very refined, you understand? But I am sympathetic to the English way of life, and I think that these parties, where one takes a little wine in the company of men, are immense fun. In Portugal girls are not so hemmed in by convention, but here in Machada everyone wishes to keep the old customs as if they were sacred. You cannot appreciate bow they are irksome!" "No one else seems to mind them," said Fenella temperately. "In fact, the people of Machada are the happiest I've met. I expect you're just a natural rebel." "That is what Austin says!" She sounded delighted, even when she begged, "Tell me what you think of Austin. He is very handsome, is he not, and so beautifully fair— almost as fair as you, Miss Harcourt, but his eyes are not the same blue. They are like the sea and yours are like the night. May I call you Fenella?" "You may." "Austin told me your name, and he explained that you are staying at the mission. After I had seen you with him at the festa I made him tell me all about you." "But he hasn't been to town since then." Maria shrugged, her eyes were merry. "There is such a thing as subterfuge, you know, and I am well acquainted with the road to the camp." "But isn't that dangerous?" "Of course it is dangerous. Everything exciting is dangerous. Austin gets frantic, but how else can I see him? Even so we are only together for a few minutes and always in the heat of the day when my mother takes siesta. How I envy your English unbringing and freedom, the way you girls are allowed to smoke and to learn to drive, and even to possess your own motor cars. I am so impatient for the 66

days when Austin will take me away from here so that I, also, may experience how wonderful it is to do as one likes!" Fenella deemed it expedient to accept a sherry she did not need and to linger over tasting it. Austin was right. Maria, in her daring, constituted a menace not only to his peace of mind but to his job. It must be frightful to have her turn up at the camp vivid and eager, and to have to send her away again almost at once, uncertain all the while as to whether her escapade would become public. For such a disaster would undoubtedly mean the end of his sojourn in Mozambique, and, much as Austin disliked his work, Fenella rather thought that he would not care to be deprived of the generous salary without the prospect of something nearly as good elsewhere. Surely Maria understood how he was placed? "Wouldn't it be wiser to go carefully till Austin can plan for you?" asked Fenella. "After all, you'd be much happier if it were possible to marry him here, with your parents' consent, and settle somewhere in this district." "That would be best," Maria agreed more soberly. "I have lived in Machada most of my life and I should miss my family and friends. But my father is the obstacle. He will never permit the marriage." "He is very fond of you?" "I am the only daughter," Maria said simply. "And he has forbidden an engagement between you and Austin ?" "Minha fe, Fenella!" Maria was smiling again, with her head thrown back as if she were on the point of laughter. "Would I take my father into my confidence? Besides, Austin has not yet asked me to marry him, and I am afraid he never will if we cannot see one another more often and without strain." Fenella was afraid so, too, but there was nothing she could do about it, besides advising Maria to take every care. She felt sorry for Austin, isolated at the camp near Ibana and in love, perhaps genuinely for the first time, with someone who was financially beyond his reach. And she had compassion for Maria, who must be deeply in love to risk so much for a few brief moments with him. "It is 67

sad that you are living out of town," Maria lamented. "I would so like that we were friends." "Wouldn't your mother allow you to visit us?" "Oh, yes." Maria positively glittered. "She has enormous respect for the missionaries. Always, when the yearly subscription list is presented she persuades my father to give a very large cheque, because she is so grateful for their work among the natives. My father is pleased with the doctor, also," she added ingenuously. "He has said your father is a conscientious man." "Then you must come to lunch or tea—just whenever it suits you." "You are kind, Fenella—so very sweet and kind. You have the lovely, casual kindness which Austin has, too. I will gladly visit you." The girl's English was good, much better than that of her contemporaries; the older people could manage only a halting "Good day." Fenella suspected Austin's influence, and felt a pang for him. During his year and a half on the estate he had picked up a good knowledge of Portuguese, but he was anxious that Maria should understand him perfectly. In a marriage it was imperative that each should have a thorough knowledge of the other's language. Fenella's thoughts switched quickly from the perilous path to the Quinta. They were joined by two jolly young men, and Fenella had nothing to do for the next quarter of an hour but smile and finish her drink. Then Maria had to leave in the car which had been sent for her, and Fenella decided to accept her offer of a lift. When she hung on at these parties till seven there were always several escorts available—for in Mozambique, as in other parts of Africa, the men outnumbered the women—but the longish ride to the mission at the side of a good-looking and politely ardent cavalier had once or twice proved trying. The fact that she was blonde among so many brunettes seemed to have a special significance among the men. She took her place beside Maria in the back of a car of luxurious proportions and ancient vintage. The driver, a half-bred Portuguese, as were many of the servants of the rich, drove the half-mile to the de Cardena residence with precision and without haste. Maria was still talking 68

fast when he pulled up at moss-grown marble pillars. "Pedro will take you home, Fenella. I insist. My mother would wish it. Women do not walk here, particularly after dark." The small brown hand rested on the door handle, and the black eyes shone. "Perhaps I will take you at your word and come to the mission sooner than you anticipate. I feel I can confide in you as I would not dare to confide in my other friends. You are discreet." "And you're hoping discretion is infectious?" "Who knows?" she said roguishly. "In any case, you and I may meet at other houses if I can coax my mother to let me go out more often. Our season for entertaining has begun. One does not give parties during the rains; it is too hot, too tiring, and some families move to the coast or go to Europe for that period. This season is going to be the most thrilling that we in Machada have ever known." Unthinking, Fenella enquired, "Why?" "But you have not heard? The Senhor Pereira is to marry his cousin! Everyone is full of it, and most people are glad that he has finally made a choice. My mother believes it is a good thing that he is to have a wife from Lisbon; a bride chosen from among us who were born here would not be popular—there would be jealousy." Maria's ever-ready laughter bubbled out. "As soon as the engagement is announced there will be picnics and festas at the Quinta, and magnificent parties. The great salon will be thrown wide, and the dining-hall . . . with their huge chandeliers blazing and the gold candelabra on the table. You should see that candelabra, Fenella! It was given to the last Marquez de Castilho Pereira when Portugal became a republic and he voluntarily relinquished the ancient title." Maria paused momentarily for breath. "My mother was present at the last grand ball at the Quinta, when the senhor welcomed everybody after his return from the war. She has described to me the elegance, the splendour, the beauty of the dresses, and the senhor himself wearing full-dress uniform for the last time. Imagine, then, how it will be when he becomes betrothed to Antonie de Bordone. She will perhaps wear some of the Pereira jewels—and they are exquisite, Fenella. My mother says . . ." l

69

It was like a ghastly dream, one of those nightmares in which every second is more grotesque and menacing than the one before. Fenella spoke not at all till Maria at last emitted a whole-hearted, "It has been lovely to see you. Boas noites, cara!" and got out of the car. Slowly, the driver negotiated the quiet roads edged by tulip-trees and palms. He took a steep by-way, and below, to the right, Fenella saw the lake spangled by the same moon which had been young and impressive on the night of the festa. Beyond, glimmered the lights of the centre of the town, and the floodlit dome of the Hotel da cidade. She shivered and sank further into the polished leather upholstery which smelled of age. Natural fortitude and the Oporto wine had sustained her during Maria's irresponsible monologue, but now the effects of both were diminishing, and a peculiar ache made itself felt at the base of her heart. Fantastic that it should have any connection with Carlos and the beautiful cousin from Lisbon!

70

CHAPTER SIX MRS. Westwood was hardly on her feet after the fever before a small party of tourists descended upon the mission. When Fenella heard that they had arrived in town a hope gleamed at the back of her mind that Miss Brean would be of their number; the little woman's personality was as stimulating as a sea wind and would be particularly welcome just now. But when the car load came up to look over the mission it comprised only an English man and wife, two young American school-masters on long vacation and a middle-aged brother and sister from Holland. There was no Miss Brean, of course, because Miss Brean would never be seen with a "drove of tourists." If she did keep her promise to come to Machada she would arrive alone. Fenella was in her father's surgery, deciphering his notes and transferring them to the card index, when the car disgorged its inquisitive passengers. Five minutes later she was summoned to the mission for introductions and the pleasure of contacting people from the outside world. Alicia Westwood, pale and rather less exuberantly chatty than usual, explained the origins of the mission and the lines upon which it was managed, and called over a couple of piccanins to sing Tonga songs for the visitors in their soft, clear voices. The children obeyed, shyly at first, though they soon forgot their audience sufficiently to strut a little to the rhythm. Their performance was a complete success. The tourists were then conducted along to the main clinic, where they marvelled at the modern fittings and apparatus. They were allowed to peep through a porthole type of window into the room in which Dr. Harcourt was performing an operation, and afterwards they accepted coffee and shortbread fingers. Five of them seemed relieved to be offered chairs in the shade of the veranda. The sixth, one of the Americans, was examining the town through his binoculars, and commenting upon the mixtures of periods in the Portuguese architecture, and the beauty of the trees. "Our show place," said Mrs. Westwood, "is unfortunately not on view. Perhaps you saw the Quinta Agostinhos from the hill as you entered Machada?" 71

"A sort of palace set above the town on the other side?" the man exclaimed. "We remarked on it,. and wondered about the place. It looked absolutely great in the sun. Who lives there?" Mrs. Westwood gave the information. "The senhor's family have been at the Quinta for something like three hundred years, though the place has been modernised from time to time. The original painted ceilings remain and much of the architecture is Manueline. In the reception rooms there are Aubusson and Gobelin tapestries which were bought in France by the old Marquez. The senhor himself had added many famous paintings to the gallery and he has also had the family portraits restored. It is said that when he marries he will commission a Portuguese artist to come out and paint himself and his wife." "Doesn't he ever let anyone else enjoy the stuff?" Mrs. Westwood shrugged. "His friends bring their friends; but he doesn't encourage sight-seers." "That's tough." The man turned suddenly to Fenella, who sat near him on the veranda wall, and said with a grin, "I'll bet you're a friend of his. How about taking me along?" She paused for a minute and then hedged. "Would your companions like that?" "They wouldn't mind. They've been groaning because I made them come here. I'm the only cultured member of this gang. Isn't that so, chaps?" The others smiled, and the English woman said, "You'd be amazed how much Burt knows about art and buildings, Miss Harcourt. He's almost a connoisseur. I'm sure none of us would object to waiting here for him." "I'm not doubting his sincerity but I've only been in Machada a few weeks. I haven't seen much of the Quinta myself." "The senhor wouldn't refuse you," said Mrs. Westwood unexpectedly. "You know how he is. Even if the whole party turned up he would welcome you cordially and with dignity. Perhaps he wouldn't exhibit his treasures, but the grounds alone are a revelation." "There you are. What about it?" the young American amiably persisted. 72

Fenella stubbornly shook her head. "I'm not a close friend of the senhor." For the moment that seemed to be that. Fenella drank her coffee and, in order to take the edge from her refusal, accepted the loan of the binoculars, adjusted them and focussed them upon various buildings in the town. They were large and powerful, so powerful, in fact, that the junction where the mission path met the road at the bottom of the hill appeared to adjoin the mission itself. She watched an ox-cart laden with, logs plod along the strip of road under the beating sun; a half-clad piccanin was in the lead and a very old native had the long rein in one gnarled hand while the other held a rod of sugarcane at which he chewed contentedly. Another ox-team, seven span this time, drawing a load of bagged maize or rice. And now came a car. Fenella's fingers tightened over the binoculars. She didn't need the ducal shield nor the extravagant size of the car to tell her whose it was. Carlos himself was at the wheel. Fenella thought the distinguished head etched at that arrogant angle would plague her memory for ever. She watched the saloon take the turn from the road, and slowly she lowered the glasses and handed them back to their owner. "You'll be able to ask the senhor himself for permission to inspect the Quinta," she said. "That's his car coming up the track." "What priceless luck," murmured the American. In mute excitement the company waited. The blue limousine swept up to a standstill and Carlos got out. He stood for a moment, hatless, in the strong light, and Fenella felt a painful drawing of her heart into her throat. He came forward and tip into the veranda, bowed over Mrs. Westwood's hand and enquired about her health, smiled aloofly at Fenella and said good morning, and turned readily towards the visitors. "We are happy to greet you in Machada," he said pleasantly. "I trust our climate does not tire you?" "I'm afraid it does," the English woman admitted. "But what we have seen has been worth a little fatigue. We didn't imagine such a thoroughly civilised town could exist 73

inside a wild country like Mozambique." "Wild? Nao quero aceita-lo!" Carlos was mockingly affronted. "A country is not wild because its forest hide leopard and lion. The jungle beasts must live somewhere. Mozambique is an old colony, senhora. You will find beauty in all her cities, beauty initiated by the early few to be maintained and perfected by those who have come after. You have, perhaps, walked in the Vasco da Gama gardens at Lourenco Marques, and admired the Museum and the buildings in the Avenida da Republica?" "We saw a bull-fight in Lourenco Marque, too ? " put in the second American, who had the husky shoulders of a full-back. "We got a kick out of that." Amused, Carlos commented, "A certain grandeur also exists in bull-fighting, the way it is done by the Portuguese. Our matadors do not kill the bull—they conquer it; which you will agree is an improvement on the more bloodthirsty sport." He accepted coffee from Mrs. Westwood but remained standing while he drank it. "You are rejoining a boat a Alimane, my friends?" "We have to. The captain wishes us to be aboard by lunch time." "So you will be returning almost at once?" Burt Winsten slung the binoculars in their case over his shoulder and assumed a wide, placating smile. "Maybe this is cheek, but I was wondering if I might have a walk through the castle before we leave, sir." Carlos turned upon him a glance of cool appraisal which, to Fenella, was familiarly tinged with distaste. It was an expression peculiar to Carlos. "Do you mean the Quinta? My house has not been called the Castelo Agostinhos for many years now. I'm afraid there would not be time." The young man grimaced ruefully at Fenella. "I'd have stood a better chance if you'd pleaded for me." As the dark grey gaze of Carlos settled upon the pale hair and pink-tan cheeks if went cold and withdrawn. "You two young people have met before to-day?" "No," she replied, averting her eyes. "Mr. Winsten has a wide knowledge of art and he was anxious to see the Quinta. It was suggested that I should accompany him and ask you to permit him a short tour." "And you declined?" queried Carlos inexorably. 74

"Miss Harcourt got out of it by saying that she wasn't a close enough friend of yours," Burt Winsten submitted boyishly. "I see." Carlos put down his cup. "It was to speak to the doctor that I came this morning. However, the matter is not supremely urgent and he is no doubt engaged." With an inclination of his head, he added, "If you are seriously interested in seeing the Quinta I can spare you an hour. Miss Harcourt will accompany us." Fenella looked blank and startled, but Carlos had taken obedience to his command so much for granted that he was already moving towards the car. And however intolerable his enmity towards her, there was a hurting sweetness in being near him and hearing his voice. She hastened up to the house for a hat, and came back, breathless, to where he stood at the open door of the car. "You will not run in this heat," he sternly reprimanded her. "One does not trifle with the sub-tropical sun, but it is easily borne if one is calm and moderate." Fenella wondered if calmness and moderation would ever again be hers. For the next forty minutes or so Carlos assumed the role which suited him perfectly, that of the sauve host displaying with a certain sophisticated pride the dazzling reception rooms of the Quinta, the portraits, the azulejos, the morning-room with canvases by Goncalves and the ceiling panelled by gold baroque woodwork; the Gothic door which opened to the back terrace in the rococo facade above which, in glorious tiling, shone the Pereira coat-ofarms. He did not, of course, conduct them up the curved ornamental staircase to the bedrooms, nor did he mention the chapel. Quiet and absorbed, the American followed him, and when they had circled once more to the front terrace he gulped his whisky and soda as it were water, and had his glass filled up again. "I can't say how grateful I am, sir—and to you, Miss Harcourt. Even though you did turn me down, I've got a hunch that the senhor wouldn't have bothered with me if you hadn't been on the spot." Fenella was weary and overheated; she had drunk too quickly the tall glass of passion-fruit juice with a dash of 75

gin which Carlos had poured for her, and her dress clung to her back with perspiration. Also, it had become patent that Carlos had insisted on her company in order to demonstrate his complete indifference to her presence. She was not to get any mistaken impressions! As far as he was concerned the night of the festa had been no different from any other night, before or since. She had merely spoken impulsively and caused him almost to lose his temper. Almost, was the key word. So she smiled perfunctorily at Burt Winsten, and privately was inclined to agree with him. They were winding down towards the lake when Winsten asked agreeably, "Would you be good enough to drop me somewhere near the post office and tell the bunch to pick me up there? I'd like to send a line to my folks and I shan't have time in Alimane." Carlos complied, said a crisp good-bye to the American and waved away his repeated thanks The car sped down the Avenida and angled towards the mission. Through her window Fenella surveyed the luxuriant sub-tropical growth in the gardens they passed, but she was not thinking of orange and pomegranate trees or date palms and banana thickets. The man at her side was without a heart in the accepted meaning of the word. He was generous in the lordly sense, but there was no softness in him, none of the yielding that goes with a tender heart. She experienced a sudden fervent longing for the end of her holiday, so that she could assure herself that his imperviousness did not touch her and sail away from him with a smile on her lips. For a second or two she even juggled with the idea of telling her father that she was bored with the heat and foreignness of Mozambique; uneasily she reflected that it would be safer to leave before it became too late. Too late for what, her reasoning did not specify. Maybe both mind and emotions were already irrevocably entangled. "That was a very, deep sigh," commented Carlos. "You have done too much this morning. The American was complaisant but indefatigable." "It was good of you to take him to the Quinta against your will," she said formally. 76

"So I have pleased you at last, senhorita, by taking seriously one of these mancebos . . . these easy-going young men to whom you are attracted." His smile was bland and distant. "We will not pursue that matter'. At what time will your father be available?" "We lunch at one." "I am afraid I cannot wait so long, and possibly he will be in need of rest after several hours' work. You will give him a message?" "Certainly, senhor." "Very well." He rounded the corner which Fenella had brought close with the binoculars. "Tell him that the fluoroscope and the X-ray apparatus which we ordered from England have now reached Alimane; I have the advice of it this morning. To-morrow the cases will be released from the custom house, and I would like him to go with me and check the contents with his list in the presence of a representative of the insurance company and a customs official." Fenella nodded. "I'll do that, senhor." "Ask the doctor," said Carlos as they slowed beside the mission, "to let me know when he will be free tomorrow, and I will arrange my day to fit in—it is to be entirely at his convenience. Compreender-lo?" "My father will be grateful for your consideration, senhor." "We will not again discuss this question of gratitude, senhorita," he said brusquely. The car had stopped and Carlos was already out on the path, opening the door for her; but there was no light assistance at her elbow, and his farewell bow was stiffly sardonic and without warmth. Fenella was thankful that the tourists were still in the veranda, so that she could convey Burt Winsten's request to be collected at the post office and remain with her back to the track till the big car had flashed away into the distance. As soon as the visitors had departed she returned to her task of indexing in her father's surgery, but it was difficult to get back into the even, business-like mood of early morning, and she found herself making foolish mistakes. 77

When Dr. Harcourt came in to lunch he sank heavily into an easy-chair and took his aperitif—a small amount of brandy in a tumblerful of soda. With relief he stretched his legs and eased the small of his back into a cushion. "You've had a hard morning," said Fenella. "How did the operation go?" "It was more serious than it might have been if the child's mother had brought him a week ago, but that was only to be expected. If one could stop them rubbing filthy herbs into open wounds and trying out their incantations, a doctor's job would be comparatively simple. The Tonga are not an unhealthy race. Top up my glass, will you, my dear? I always sweat profusely in gown and mask " "Poor darling." Fenella squirted the sparklet and handed the drink back to him. "Senhor Pereira came up to see you but he couldn't wait." She passed on the senhor's message and her father's face cleared of weariness. He sat up straight with his elbows along his knees. "That's great news, just what I needed," he said. "Now we shall be able to throw out the antediluvian contraption which was loaned to us till the final section of our equipment should arrive. It's been an almost complete liability. Carlos ordered those things many months ago and we've both been fuming at the delay in delivery." "You won't forget to see about to-morrow?" "I could be ready at three. Write a note and get Antonio to send it to the Quinta this afternoon. Carlos will pick me up here. He's always keen to save the good doctor trouble." His mouth was humorous as he said this, but there were friendliness and admiration in his tone. "Did I ever tell you about the boy who was injured during a game hunt?" He emptied his glass and went on, "It wasn't long after I came, but I already knew Carlos fairly well. He had some men down from Beira—enthusiastic hunters. So he organised an elephant hunt and I was invited, more or less in an official capacity. The old mission doctor was still here then, so I went. Well, we chased elephant though we didn't kill any, but one night the camp was threatened by lions, and during the ensuing excitement a native boy was shot in the thigh by one of our number " He shook his head reminiscently. "You should have seen Carlos with that 78

boy. He carried him to his tent, and while I extracted the bullet—it was embedded in bone so took some time—he talked away in Tonga while the boy gazed at him in adoration. Heaven knows what he said but it worked better than an anaesthetic. Once the wound was dressed the boy could have been moved, but Carlos wouldn't hear of it. He shared my tent that night." Fenella did not comment, but she did tell herself that such an incident rendered even less comprehensible the cold and mocking senhor who possessed such a capacity for savage anger. When he drove up at exactly three the following afternoon and was shown by an awestruck Antonio into the doctor's lounge, it seemed to Fenella that the room, which comfortably held the customary articles of furniture with plenty of polished floor space between the rugs, had become overcrowded. Carlos was no broader than Austin and only an inch or two taller, yet his presence reduced the room to suffocating proportions which were not apparent when Austin Frank land was there. The fact was, Fenella acknowledged with an alarming twinge of bitterness, Carlos belonged to the spacious magnificence of the Quinta. He was entirely out of place in this small modern adobe villa which, as her father had once pointed out, was the ideal setting for herself. His glance flickered impersonally over her face, took in the flowered print housefrock. "You do not, then, desire a jaunt into Alimane?" he enquired. "No, thank you, senhor." "I suggested she should dress up and make an outing of it, but Fenella thought she might be in the way," mentioned Dr. Harcourt from the doorway. "That would not be so," Carlos stated. "There are the shops and tea in the square near the band. However, we will not persuade her against her inclination. You are ready, doctor?" In the days which followed it became obvious that that brief dismissive speech was to be the keynote of their future relationship. Carlos came over to see the new equipment installed and tested. He came again to watch the X-ray at work on several plantation labourers and to hear 79

their cases diagnosed. And each time he sat for a while on the doctor's veranda and dissected, from an intelligence as lithe and economical as his body, the medical problems attending so large and primitive a native population, and the innovations which must continually be put into practice. Fenella inevitably sat nearby sewing, as became an unmarried young woman in Machada society. Carlos seldom spoke to her except in greeting. He was treating her exactly as he would treat the daughter of one of his friends in town, except that with them he might have made teasing comments about suitors. While he was a daily guest, Fenella's whole existence had the flavour of unreality and a core of restlessness. The week-end came and with it Austin, high-spirited as a released prisoner. "We'll go dancing," he told Fenella, "and not in Machada. I'll take you to the coast to wine, dine and dance beneath the stars, on a rooftop. A low rooftop, my sweet; it's never wise to look too high." A maxim which applied equally to both. There was pleasure in being with a man so easily understood, satisfaction in knowing that one could be natural and unafraid. Fenella began cautiously to expand. She told him about the meeting with Maria. He put a few rather odd questions, went quiet for a spell and chose a different subject for conversation. As Austin had promised, the evening was lively and enjoyable. They had dinner in a mosquito-proofed roof-garden at a table set between a young pine-cob palm and a species of euphorbia which grew from circles cut out of the tiled floor. Banks of flowers obscured the stone parapet, and the cupolas which sprouted from it at intervals like large golden onions were outlined in coloured lights. The Portuguese love of light and colour was infectious; it was seeping into Fenella's own veins. They danced for two hours, and towards midnight they wound away in the ramshackle sports car over the fine earth roads of Alimane towards Machada. The air rushed cool and sweet over the brow. The coconut-palms stretched up, incredibly tall, to rustle their fans gently against the 80

wine-dark heavens. What a delicious relief were the long moonless nights after the blaze of day. Before he said good night, Austin vowed that the evening at the coast had been a tonic. "Because we like each other a lot but aren't in love," he elucidated, "and you're not likely to misconstrue my lightest remark, we can be entirely natural with each other. As a matter of fact, I rather wish we were in love. How simple my life would be then. But I suppose life isn't meant to be simple for the young." "It might be less complicated in England than in Mozambique," she said. "How long are you staying?" "At the beginning my father set the limit at six months, and I thought that would be ample. Since then he's acted as if I'm here for good." "No one can blame him for wanting to keep you with him. Would you like, to spend the rest of your life in Africa?" "Yes . . . no." Fenella laughed self-consciously. "I don't know. Back in England I had the thing cut and dried: a few months in Portuguese East Africa and then home again, feeling a bigger and better woman, to a new job. Mozambique was meant to be merely a holiday interlude, but the country has an insidious grip. Insidious isn't really the word. . . ." "Yes, it is," he said, and laughed too. "We're enmeshed in it up to the eyebrows, Fenella, but we have one another, thank the stars!" He had worked through two week-ends while Miguel was sick, and was now entitled to a few days' break. Having obtained the senhor's permission, he would stay in Machada till next Wednesday evening. With enthusiasm, he accepted Fenella's invitation to come in for a meal whenever it suited him. Then he blew her a kiss and drove away. It surprised and intrigued Fenella that Maiia de Cardena should attend the mission service next morning. Portuguese from the town did occasionelly honour the Westwoods in this way, for both the missionary and his wife were well liked, but Fenella got the impression, from Maria's demure demeanour as she took a seat beside her mother, 81

and her ladylike nod when she met Fenella's glance, that a thickly cloaked object lay behind the visit. It was not till the service had ended and she was presented to the Senhora de Cardena, who, after all, was only a middle-aged mother determined to educate her capricious daughter to be a competent adult, that Fenella glimpsed Maria's purpose. "Fenella is good, solid English, as you see, Mother," the girl declared. "She spends much of her time at the mission and is of a serious disposition. There could be no harm in my coming here alone in the car." "Indeed, no." This appeared to be the extent of the senhora's English, for, with an apologetic gesture towards Fenella, she finished what she had to say to Maria in her own tongue. There followed an animated exchange between the two, after which Maria shed a brilliant smile upon Fenella. "My mother says I may have lunch with you, if it is convenient. Please agree, Fenella!" It was arranged. Solicitously, Maria saw her mother ensconced in the grand but ancient vehicle which was to return for her at two-thirty, and ecstatically she watched it slowly vanish down the hill. "This is like a dream coming true!" she exclaimed, swiftly gripping Fenella and kissing her cheek. "Perhaps at last everything will come right. You will not be vexed if I tell you that Austin, also, will eat lunch with us? Was it wicked of me to . . . to manipulate?" Fenella was not sure. A few seconds ago she had hoped that Austin would stroll in upon them, unaware, till his eyes lit upon Maria, that this was to be a special day for him. But that their meeting at the doctor's house should have been contrived between them savoured of thoughtlessness as far as she was concerned, and danger to all three. It was taking rather too much for granted. She thrust away the unworthy reflection that the evening out with Austin might have been intended in the nature of a bribe, that he had made this appointment with Maria before deciding to give Fenella dinner at the coast. Regarded in that light, the whole business repelled and made her want to harden against him. Yet where were they to turn for sympathy and encouragement for their romance? 82

Maria said "You are displeased, Fenella—I should have known. I am so sorry to have done this, but how else could we be together for an hour?" The dark eyes brimmed, and were dabbed at with a scrap of lace. "It's all right," said Fenella hastily. "It's better for you to see Austin this way than to take the risk of going to the camp. That was madness. But I wonder if it would not be happier for you, in the long run, if you were to cease meeting him altogether?" As she gazed at Fenella, Maria's mobile face became distorted with grief and incredulity. "I would die," she whispered. "Austin is my world . . . my life. I do not care that he has no money, no rich connections. I will farm with him as our peasant wives farm with their husbands. Oh, yes! I could do it, Fenella. Do not laugh at me." "I'm not laughing, only trying to be practical. Where will a clandestine affair get you?" By the time Maria had been made to understand the meaning of the word "clandestine" she was smiling again and tossing those gleaming black curls. "But that is true romance, Fenella! Who wishes to sit in a dim lounge with a correct young man two yards away, and a silent mother sewing near the window. That is what happens, I give you my word. I could not marry a man who would be content with such a courtship." For which Fenella hardly blamed her. Maria's prediliction for the melodramatic turn of phrase did not obscure the fact that although she could have made an excellent match in Machada or Alimane, she still preferred the prospect of an uncertain future with Austin. Not that he was penniless at present; as the wife of a plantation superintendent Maria would not have to work, and if her clothes were fewer they would not deteriorate in quality. Much depended on his keeping his position on the estate. A little later Austin greeted Maria with a calculated jocularity which divulged nothing. The doctor, somewhat astonished at the extra guest but politely paternal with them all, withdrew as soon as lunch was over. Austin, Fenella and Maria rested on the veranda and chatted, and when eventually the de Cardena equipage rolled to a halt on the path, Fenella's doubts were practically dispersed. 83

After Maria had gone, Austin sat down again and got out cigarettes. "I always liked visiting this house, even before you came and trebled its attractions," he said. "It was like you to get Maria here to-day." Fenella was puzzled and a little annoyed, till she realised that a man placed as Austin was must, at all costs, hang on to his pride. He didn't want her to know haw badly he needed contact with Maria. Involuntarily, she softened towards him, and mentally excused what had at first appeared as a lack of consideration for herself. "So long as no one gets hurt," she answered carelessly. "I wouldn't care to be involved in anything sticky." "You won't be," he assured her, "and it will lift a load from my mind at the camp. You'd never guess what I've gone through down there, at various times." Which meant, Fenella presumed, that Maria was likely to become a regular guest. On the face of it the idea was fairly harmless, but its implications caused her uneasiness. Maria was so volatile and frothy, yet so determined to have her own way; she was as unpredictable as a jumping cracker. Fenella would have cared less had there been a secret engagement between them. To flout convention on behalf of a couple bound together by a mutual declaration of love might be exhilarating. However, that would come. During Austin's brief leave from the camp Maria came three times to the doctor's house. She sparkled at Austin, adored his raillery and tried to match it, and when they parted laid her hand confidingly in his, as if she understood all that was in his heart yet could not be spoken. Watching them, Fenella began to feel happier about her own part in their relationship.

84

CHAPTER SEVEN AFTER Austin had driven off to the camp Fenella turned her attention to tasks which had recently been neglected. There was the parcelling of Aunt Anna's brocade cocktail blouse and a letter to advise its despatch and convey birthday greetings. The mending had fallen behind, and Dr. Harcourt's records needed bringing up to date. Some books had to be returned to the Senhora Seixas, and Fenella was still undecided whether to accept that scholarly woman's offer to give her lessons in the language; this latter was a question upon which her heart and her head were at war. Obviously a knowledge of Portuguese would be of little use to her in the future; yet she knew instinctively that the country and its spoken tongue already had their place in her inmost being. Late on Friday afternoon she walked to the post office, enjoying the vista as she descended to the level of the town; an inexhaustible pastime, for the panorama included the vivid green of palms, the near-black of cedar and a multitude of shades between them, red-tiled roofs, and roofs chrome-yellow and hydrangea-blue, and the hot white shapes of houses and shops. She bought her stamps and posted Aunt Anna's parcel, acknowledged salutations with a daring "Born dial" and, her spirits slightly elevated by the universal good-will which pervaded the town, she made her way back through the gardens and round by the lake to the top road which wound away towards the mission. As she mounted the mission path darkness was sweeping over the country; on one hand was the advancing purple of night, on the other the last glorious flush of day. She dropped her hat on to the metal table on the veranda and entered the dusky lounge. Both hands were at her temples, the fingers combing back her hair to admit the deliciously cool atmosphere to her scalp. Thus, with arms raised and a faint smile on her lips, she came face to face with Carlos. In the fading light his expression was unreadable. 85

For a second she stood transfixed. Then one hand lowered and the other hurriedly smoothed the silky tresses. "Do not jump like that," said Carlos. "I am not a ghost." How true! A ghost might terrify but it would not touch a red-hot needle to her nerves. "I was not expecting you, senhor." "Carlos," he said without expression. "From now on it must be Carlos. It is more suitable that my cousin should believe that you and your father are my near friends, however you privately repudiate such a friendship. I wish her to have confidence in you, and that cannot be accomplished without some unbending on your part." "Your cousin," Fenella echoed foolishly. "I have a cable this afternoon. Antonie and her aunt are on their way here, by air. They will land at Lourenco Marques, and I will bring them to Alimane by yacht." Fenella listened, while he continued in a flat, inscrutable voice: "I will sail to-morrow and arrive back on Monday, probably towards evening It will please me if you and your father will dine with us." His complete lack of any sort of emotion teased at Fenella's heated nerves. It was uncanny, and in a way revealing. Why should he take so much trouble, if not to conceal something which went fatally deep? Confronted with the imminent advent of Antonie, whom the had not seen for two years, was he at last visualising the Quinta with a mistress, himself with a wife? Was that hidden heart of his stirring to a passionate, expectant warmth—not so much for the woman who was coming but for what she represented? With an agonising effort of will, Fenella pulled up. "Your cousin will stay at the Quinta?" she asked. "Naturally. Her rooms are prepared." "And what, exactly, do you require of me?" "That you will keep your word," he replied evenly. "Antonie will be lonely at first, but I do not wish her to be thrown among too many young friends till she is able to deal with them. She will need a girl companion and I can trust you to help her to be happy, so that she does not pine for Lisbon, and her family." "I'll do my best, senhor." 86

"Carlos." He made a movement towards the door. "Thank you, senhorita. I look forward to seeing you together—the paradoxical English miss and Antonie, who is Portuguese and in despair when she is not loved. Good night . . . Fenella." She managed a "Good night," but his name stuck in her throat. Presently came the sound of his car from some way off, and she remembered that there had been no car outside. Possibly he had parked it on the other side of the mission in order that it should not stand in full view of any neighbours who might be aware that Dr. Harcourt had not yet come home from the native reserve. It was like him to think ahead. Fenella switched on a lamp and lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers. Antonie and Carlos. She had better accustom herself to the coupling of their names. That week-end was the longest Fenella had ever lived through so far. By Saturday morning the whole town was seething with the news of Antonie's arrival in Mozambique. There were conjectures as to how long it would be before the engagement was made public, and the older people recalled the tales told them by their parents about the old Marquez and his Marqueza, who had also been a de Bordone. Senhora Seixas, in her kindly, unprejudiced fashion, revived for Fenella's benefit her own memories of Carlos' father and the Scottish wife he had worshipped. "To look at these Pereira men you would not think them capable of such passion and devotion," she said. "But they all have it—almost too much of it. To deserve love of a Pereira is a great deal to expect of a woman. I hope this Antonie de Bordone is selfless and loving." On Sunday, Maria offered her titbit: "My father was in Alimane when the senhor set off in his yacht. He was wearing white shorts and a singlet, my father said, and was whistling like a boy." Even Austin had to remark: "The entire town is bubbling, Fenella, and all because the senhor is showing himself to be no different from other men." But even so dragging and profitless a week-end had to come to an end. 87

Antonie de Bordone was unlike any of the women whom Fenella had met in Machada. She was as tall as Fenella and exceedingly slim. The lines of her face were long and regular; her skin was pale, her hair as dark as that of Carlos, its heavy waves dressed high on the crown of her head. She seldom smiled, and when she did the sadness still lingered in the dark-brown eyes. Fenella supposed that the fine-drawn, tense look was what Carlos intended, with her assistance, to banish. He had known that Antonie would be despondent at entering a new country and beginning an existence among strangers; he was also determined that his cousin should come to feel some of his own proud love of Mozambique. All this was apparent on Antonie's first evening at the Quinta Agostinhos. Fenella and Dr. Harcourt had arrived just before eight. They had been introduced to Antonie and to the prematurely wrinkled Tia Supervia, who had accompanied her from Lisbon; they had dined without ceremony in the smaller dining-room and had coffee on the softly illumined terrace. After which Carlos had conventionally sought the doctor's acquiescence to a suggestion that Fenella should spend the whole of to-morrow at the Quinta in order to further her acquaintance with his cousin. At nine o'clock Carlos had bent over Antoine. "You will now go to bed, my child. There have been many wearing days." Obediently she stood up. "Yes, Carlos. I would like to go now." And in limp tones, "Boas noites, Dr. Harcourt. Adeus, Fenella. Boas noites, Carlos." Fenella had watched the figure swathed in wine-red silk walk gracefully down the terrace with the aunt tagging behind like a shadow, and it had struck her as impossible that she and Antonie de Bordone could ever be more than remotely friendly. How would they ever find topics of mutual interest? To-day, though, when there were just the two of them to wander in the gardens and exchange ideas, friendship between them seemed a little less improbable. The aunt was resting, and Carlos had estate matters to attend to. The sun glared from a sapphire sky, but the deodars and 88

flamboyants, the magnolias and palms provided ample shade, and several ornamental stone benches were set about in various positions to command a wide view. No doubt these seats were in constant demand when Carlos gave a ball. Antonie's English, though hesitant from lack of use, was nearly as faultless as her cousin's. Oddly, her pronunciation was more nasal than his. "In Lisbon we had many English friends," she explained, "and when I was younger and still at the convent my parents often travelled in England. They would sometimes stay for months in London. It was always my wish to go there. I did not think I would ever come to Mozambique." "But your family has many connections with this country?" "Only with Carlos. His grandmother was a . . ." she frowned, seeking a translation--"a great-aunt of mine, and my father was a cousin of his father. Perhaps that sounds a muddle, but it does not look so complicated in the front pages of our family Bible." "So you have known him all your life?" "No. I do not remember Carlos before I was sixteen. My birthday is in September, and that year Carlos was there. The grape harvest was in and our workers were making wine, treading with their feet and singing. He came into the pateo so unexpected that day, and looking very fine in his smart clothes. They told him it was my birthday, and he whirled me round and kissed me. Then he took me to the town and bought me a gold chain with a heart on it and some pink quilted slippers which had big feather • pompoms on the fronts. I still have them." Though she did not know it at that moment, self-torment was to become one of Fenella's recurring pastimes. She said now: "Sixteen is nearly grown-up." "Yes, particularly in my country, though we do not marry so young in these days." Her long fingers spread wide each side of her on the bench, she gave Fenella a restrained smile. "I adored Carlos from that day. Afterwards, whenever he came to Lisbon he would take me for drives into the country and to the theatre. He would tell me about Mozambique and insist that I must come here 89

and see for myself that it was not merely a slice of jungle. I thought it an excellent joke." Antonie's face was not expressive. Indeed, considering her undiluted Latin blood, she was exceptionally unemotional and undemonstrative. But that might be due to the exalted family from which she sprang. She was only a year older than Fenella, yet in a feminine fashion she was as enigmatic as Carlos. Although she had led a protected life, she gave the impression of long-standing disappointment and resignation, as if, Fenella thought to herself, the two years since his last visit to Lisbon had been almost too long to wait for Carlos. Which, if true, was quite extraordinary. This was the girl to whom he had attributed a "fascinating flair for coquetry." There were no signs now of archness. But within a day or two, when the other girl had completely revived from her journey and the plunge into strange surroundings, this quietness, which almost amounted to docility, might wear off and the real Antonie be disclosed. The possibility filled Fenella with a curious dread. "The textile design that you tell me of this morning," Antonie said politely. "How is it done?" "It took Fenella a moment or two to readjust her thoughts. "One trains for it," she said. "My job was to think up new designs or work on my employer's suggestions. Then I prepared sketches and finally the coloured design, which was eventually used in manufacture." "Oh. You did not paint the material?" Fenella shook her head. "Only at home, sometimes, for fun." She hesitated. She had promised Carlos to do her best to help make this girl happy. Here was her first opportunity—yet it needed will-power to seize it. Not only will-power but resolute pluck. Lifeless, Antonie possessed definite charm and good looks. How much more alluring she would be when her eyes invited and vital colour suffused the creamy skin. Was she, Fenella, equal to sacrificing herself for the happiness of Carlos? She did not wait to examine the problem. "Are you fond of painting?" she asked quickly. "There was a time, yes," came the languid reply. 90

"Well, why shouldn't we amuse ourselves with a box of colours and a length of white calico? If we're a success we might graduate to a natural linen or silk, and turn out something worthwhile. You must have seen hand-painted cloths and mats in the Lisbon shops." "Yes, of course." The answer was hardly less slack. "I have done too much sewing, too much thinking. It will be absorbing to paint." The thin black brows were drawn together. "But not mats, Fenella, not cloths. Carlos has already too much linen." "What we make will not be very important; we can decide about it later. We may not even advance beyond the experimental calico stage!" Antonie gently wagged the foot which was crossed over her other ankle. Pretty ankles, of which she had at some time undoubtedly been conscious and perhaps vain. Curbing a slight irritation, as much with herself for her spurious enthusiasm over the painting as with Antonie's obvious lack of co-operation, Fenella looked up towards the house. "Your aunt is on the terrace," she said. "Poor Tia. She was so full of fear in the plane. She would not eat or drink. Only the knowledge that we were coming to Carlos sustained her. She is not so old as she looks, nor has she always been so ugly. Once, in her girlhood, she was nearly betrothed." "So she's unmarried?" "Considerar-la! Has she not the bearing of a solteira—an old maid?" Antonie's accents were not derisive or waspish but to Fenella they were vaguely disquieting. "It is love that keeps one young and lovely, and Tia had to give up all hope of inspiring love almost before I was born." Fenella had not regarded Tia Supervia as ugly in any sense, nor as being so very old. The sallow, lined face had a set sweetness of expression which must have been hard to achieve in a society where the unmarried woman is something of a blight on a family—a blight to be used, nevertheless, as sewing woman and chaperone and even as nursemaid. The woman's gaze was direct, and when resting upon Antonie it held a brooding affection. Her habit of selfeffacement was by now ingrained, but Fenella felt sure that her individuality remained intact. And she was not to 91

be scorned because her first plane trip had unsettled her nerves. They walked back between the oleanders and abutilons to the house, and as they entered one end of the terrace a light lunch was being served at the other; a chilled salad with little jellied tongues from glass jars, cream cheese, fresh fruit and the inevitable decanter of Madeira wine. A meal to tempt the heat-jaded appetite. The three women lunched alone. Tia Supervia talked softly; about the departure from Lisbon, the arrival in Lourenco Marques and the superlative pleasure of being met and embraced by Carlos actually as one stepped from the plane. He was good, that Carlos Jose de Castilho Pereira, and deserving of much felicity. Tia's smile at Antonie plainly indicated in whose hands she desired his felicity to repose. As soon as they had finished their wine Antonie and her aunt went up to their rooms for siesta, leaving Fenella to wander along to a couch in the morning-room. No doubt they had the impression that she was more at home at the Quinta than they were themselves. She stood in the great arched doorway and stared somewhat wistfully at the bright domed ceiling and the groups of gilt cherubs from which the chandeliers were suspended. Then she entered and stood below the large portrait in a carved gilt frame which hung in a prominent position above the glass-enclosed bookcase. The man was handsome, with his wide forehead, his high-bridged nose and finely cut nostrils, his unruly black curls and piercing eyes which had the appearance of jet on the canvas. Carols was like him, but more vital, more virile, and his eyes were a strange dark grey. From the opposite wall a woman looked down, a mysteriously superb creature in a low-cut gown and mantilha and many fine jewels. She was Teresa de Bordone, who had been married for one day to the head of another branch of the family, the Marquez de Bordone. The man over there had changed her title to that of Marqueza de Castilho Pereira. Depressed by the weight of noble names, Fenella turned' away. She extracted one of the long, fat cigarettes from the great crystal box on a baroque table, and eyed 92

it dubiously. They smelled rich when Carlos smoked them; in fact, their aroma was part of his particular fragance. Fenella decided the cigarette was too male, and dropped the one she held upon the ash-tray which stood beside the box. "They are too big—those cigarettes?" She twisted, and ruthlessly calmed her pulses. "I didn't know you had returned, sen . . . Carlos." He came in from the terrace, faintly smiling. "Thank you for remembering, but you do not pronounce correctly. It seems there is no "r" in your language. But no matter. Your tutor in Portuguese will attend to that." He pulled open a drawer in the table and took out a flat tin of English cigarettes. "Try one of these. I got them for you." "You're very thoughtful," she said mechanically, and selected one. "Not at all. It is agreed that you are to be a frequent guest, so I must provide you with the trifles which alleviate monotony." He flicked on the silver table lighter and kindled first her cigarette and then his own. "I have lunched to-day at one of those civic banquets in the town at which one is given too much food and wine, and my neighbour at table was the Senhora Seixas, who is a learned woman with whom I enjoy to converse. It made me very glad to hear that yesterday you have had your first lesson with her." "It is merely something to do," she said offhandedly. "The senhora was kind enough to offer to teach me, but one cannot learn a language in six months." "That is true, but here you will have every assistance, and we will be indulgent over your mistakes. When Antonie is settled, she will teach you our songs. You have heard a Portuguese love-song, senhorita?" "Lario, who lives next to us, sings them." "So he does, to the little nurse at the mission " He had his finger on everything, this maddening Carlos. "But one does not woo only with candence. It is necessary to comprehend the subtlety of the lyric." He shrugged in that alien manner of his, as if all this would come to her in time, if she were patient. "What have you been doing this morning?" "We walked and talked." 93

"And of what did you talk?" "Of nothing worth repeating. We were merely getting to know each other." He smoked for a minute before asking, "Do you think you will become fond of Antonie?" Fenella's pause was less obvious. "I don't see why not, senhor." "But there is a doubt in your mind. Are you wishing I had not kept you to your promise?" "No," she said steadily. "Antoine and I have spent an agreeable morning, and after it we lunched with Tia Supervia." "And now Antonie and her aunt are taking siesta while you spurn a well-sprung couch and spend the time examining my portraits with displeasure!" So he had been watching her. No wonder she had felt unsafe and moody. It was Fenella's turn to shrug. "Antonie is very like the portrait of the last Marqueza," she commented. "I disagree," he said flatly, and dropped the matter as though it either seared or was completely negligible. The silence which ensued had lasted too long when Tia Supervia came quietly into the room. She greeted Carlos with a surprised smile, and a warm spate of Portuguese, which he answered with the same lack of reserve. He bent over her hand in the manner of the grande cavalheiro, and touched his lips to it. "As always, you are too energetic to lie long, Tia. You are now fully recovered?" "Yes, Carlos. That was a slight do r de cabeca . . the migraine, which will not depart till one has rested the nerves. The plane make so much noise for such a long time, and I cannot suffer the ear-plugs!" "That is comprehensible. Sit down, and presently we shall have some tea in the English fashion." He conversed charmingly, according more attention to the older woman than to Fenella. Tia Supervia beamed ecstatically and for a while submerged her repressions, till the limelight shifted to Antonie. The Portuguese girl had changed into a heavy white silk dress profusely patterned around the neckline with ruched scarlet braid, and she wore her hair loose about 94

her shoulders. Her only jewellery was a beaten gold wristlet. She came to Carlos and slipped an arm in his. "How good to see you so soon, Carlos. I hope you are always home as early as this." He smiled down at her. "You have not been lonely, in this short time? You and Fenella are near in age. You should have much in common." "Fenella is kind." The reply was too automatic to have much sincerity, but a second later Antonie brightened and lifted her face to him. "Carlos, can you get us a box of colours . . . paints? Fenella will show me how to decorate some material with flower motifs—she has promised. When I am proficient I will design for you a silk scarf—but not with flowers! One does not wear a scarf in Mozambique, I know, but you will keep it because Antonie made it for, you." "That is quite certain," he said. "You shall have your box of colours and whatever you need in the way of materials. And now we will drink and eat small buns. To your chair, Antonie. Tia Supervia will pour for us." The man-servant who had wheeled in the tea-trolley grinned happily and withdrew. The whole staff were merry at having a young woman in the Quinta. They were agog with hope; even the natives and coloureds in the kitchens were aware of a new spirit in the air. It was while Fenella was plopping sugar into her second cup of tea that the gossip turned naturally to the coming week-end. "To-morrow," Carlos said, "I shall again be busy, but on Thursday afternoon I will show you the town, Antonie, and you will buy gifts for your parents. Perhaps on Friday we shall visit the ebony forest; Fenella has not yet seen it, either. For the week-end . . ." he paused teasingly. "Yes, Carlos?" "You enjoyed the yacht, you and Tia?" "It is a splendid yacht." "She sails well since she has been overhauled. The week-end, then, we will spend on the yacht, from noon on Saturday till Sunday night. We will go to Porto Alva and have some of my friends there aboard for picnics and deck games, and possibly we shall have some dancing. 95

In the four cabins we can sleep eight people. We are four, and there will be the doctor and some young men whom I will choose with great discretion. That will suit you?" Fenella had sipped her tea but her mouth was dry. She also had a sinking sensation in the region of her lowest rib. Carefully she reached to set down her cup upon the kidney-shaped trolley. "I'm afraid you must exclude me, Carlos. I have a guest to lunch next Sunday." He, too, disposed of his cup, and leaned back in his chair, the more squarely to regard her with those penetrating eyes. So far, his demeanour was wholly amicable. "So?" Then we will postpone the yachting till the following week-end." "I'm sorry," said Fenella, almost inaudibly. "I'm engaged for lunch every Sunday." His mouth compressed, but only slightly. "Surely that is impossible--unless it is always the same guest?" She made no reply beyond a movement of her head which might have meant anything. "You are too searching, Carlos," said Antonie. "Fenella is entitled to her secrets." Still looking at Fenella, Carlos said very coolly, "You will put off your guest next Sunday." "I can't," she said abruptly. "Please arrange the trip without me." His voice was tempered steel. "I will tell Frankland for you." Colour swept up from her neck, an angry pink. "You will not, senhor !" "Who is Frankland?" asked Antonie patiently. "He sounds like an Englishman." "He is," said Fenella, before Carlos could make some frozen rejoinder. "He's superintendent of a section of the plantations." "Are you fond of him?" Without waiting to find out, Antonie turned her large dark eyes thoughtfully to Carlos. "Could not this senhor . . . Mr. Frankland, be one of the party on the yacht? That would solve everything." Again Fenella hastened to forestall Carlos. "Please do not concern yourself, Antonie. It would be best to leave me out of your arrangements." 96

"The senhorita is right," said Carlos coldly, as he got up. "In future we will remember she is not free on Sundays. Shall we go out to the terrace?" Carlos, of course, was still of the opinion that she was making an idiot of herself over Austin. Fenella longed to be alone with him and tell him the truth, to beg his sympathy and counsel in the matter of Maria. He would know how to deal with it and minimise the hurt for the lovers and Maria's parents; he might even persuade Maria's father to condone the marriage, and help the young couple to settle in Machada. But no. Even if Carlos were approachable, his own honourable mode of living would preclude leniency towards others less upright. His profound cynicism in the matter of herself and Austin and his merciless attitude towards the people of the town who did not conform to the proprieties were barriers which Fenella could not surmount. His strict code was one of the things she loved him for —yes, loved, she repeated bitterly; she might as well admit it here at the Quinta while all his tenderness was for the cousin who sat beside him—but her own principles were flexible enough to recognise and forgive the weaknesses in other human beings. There was nothing for it but to continue as she had begun. She would come to the Quinta whenever she was wanted, not so much to keep her promise to Carlos as for the exquisite pain of seeing him often. And she must go on helping Austin and Maria in the small way which lay within her power. They had so little compared with Carlos.. . and Antonie. Fenella did not stay for dinner that evening. Carlos asked her to, but something contemptuous in his expression prevented her from accepting. She made her frock the excuse; she had worn it for many hours and needed a change. The day with Antonie had exacted its toll of her nervous energy, and Carlos, ironical and remote, was suddenly insupportable. So she went home as she had come, in a Pereira car with a chauffeur driving. She lay back in it and thought of the three at the Quinta who, from now on, would spend all their evenings together. Probably the time would 1083

97

come when Tia Supervia would go to bed first in order that the other two might exchange good nights without an audience. What agony there was in such imagining!

98

CHAPTER EIGHT DURING the next two or three weeks Fenella was fully occupied. Nearly every week-day morning the car came to carry her off to the Quinta, and there she swam and lazed and gossiped. Carlos took the three women for drives into the plantations and through the native villages. He would stop and explain cultivation and cropping methods, or call an old native from his but and question him in Tonga, afterwards translating for the benefit of his passengers. Fenella saw the ebonies growing, and the workshops where ornaments were made from seasoned wood for the export market. She strolled round the oil-extraction plant and the sisal factory, penetrated the thick belts of timber and marvelled at the gargantuan trees. Antonie was impressed. She knew little about anything that grew except grapes for the wine market, and garden flowers and shrubs. Every other morning at eight-thirty, Fenella had a long session in Portuguese. The patience of Senhora Seixas was never taxed, for her pupil was uncommonly quick to grasp the rules and pronunciation; even the difficult nasal sounds came easily, because so many Portuguese used them when speaking English. Fenella, whose school French had risen only slightly above average, found that she possessed a sort of affinity with Portuguese—unless her swift progress could be prosaically attributed to the fact that she heard the languege spoken so often. Antonie could never be persuaded to test Fenella's grasp of idiom or the irregular verbs. She frankly declared that the early stages of learning a language were boring both to the pupil and everyone else; after which Fenella kept her prowess to herself. She still wrote up her father's charts and the card index, and fitted in an hour or two now and then assisting the dispenser. Her invitations to cocktail parties were fewer. In a town the size of Machada it could not help but be known that she had been chosen to companion Antonie de Bordone. Some envied her, and the mere fact that she was often at the Quinta sent up her stock with the 99

shopkeepers of the town. Everyone waited for the day when Carlos would launch his cousin with a ball. Fenella was not happy, but she had no time to be really wretched; she was balanced precariously on a rim between the extremes. If she happened to be at home when Dr. Harcourt came in for lunch, he would raise his brows. "Are you condescending to stay at the mission to-day?" he said once. "I told Carlos last night that I needed a day at home. Besides, I like being here when it's the boy's afternoon off." "You like being monopolised, too," he commented shrewdly. "Do you have any other guests at the Quinta?" "A man or two, sometimes, to balance a luncheon party." "Is Carlos at home much?" His tone made Fenella wary. Considering his preoccupation with his work, he could, at times, show amazing perspicacity about things less mundane. "Not in the mornings," she answered non-committally, "and some afternoons he goes off with the bailiff. I don't have much to do with him." When Carlos was there she had as much to do with him as any guest has with a host. But some kinds of torture are best borne alone. It would be too shattering if her father were to guess at the bruised state of her emotions. Since an incident in Alimane, Fenella's heart had become additionally heavy. That day had come home for a quick lunch before making a business trip to the port. "You two girls may go with me and employ yourselves at the shops until I am free," he said. "Tia, too, unless she would prefer to rest." Tia did prefer to rest, so Antonie and Fenella went down to the car, and from that moment the afternoon developed a sinuous thread of poison. For Antonie slid into the front seat which was usually her aunt's, and Fenella had, perforce, to sit in the back. Carlos, arriving a few moments later, said: "You have arranged between you this new seating? Very well, if you are both satisfied." 100

Less than half an hour later he had parked the car in the centre of Alimane. "We will meet here again at exactly four," he said, "and then we will call in on some English friends for tea. Do not exhaust yourselves." He disappeared into a building and the two girls strolled under the wide portico which shaded the shop fronts. Presently, Antonie was drawn to a hairdresser's window. "We have an hour," she observed. "I will ask if they can shampoo my hair at once. This shop is bigger than the one in Machada." To wait in the shop while Antonie had her hair washed and set was hardly Fenella's idea of an afternoon's pleasure. They agreed to meet at the car, and she made her way to the sea front. It was really too hot to walk on the shadeless beach but the blue sea beckoned, so irrestibly cool and calm, that Fenella took off her shoes and plodded down to where the waves lapped white round an exposed reef of rocks. It was sheer bad luck that she should have remained too long staring out at the red-sailed fishingboats in the bay. When her watch said five to four and she about-faced to retrace her steps, the ocean was well up the sides of her rock and there was no other foothold within five feet. She was in no immediate danger; in fact, it would have been no trouble to wade between the rocks to safety. But she was wearing white linen, and only too clearly she recalled Carlos' mention of having tea with friends. She considered taking the leap which would land her on the nearest foothold; from there up to the beach the stones were smaller and more closely packed. But a wave washed along the reef and she could see herself sliding neatly over the surface of the rock into four feet of water. Her figure had been spotted by a couple of schoolboys in shorts and sun-helmets. From the sea's edge they called to her in Portuguese, and then both raced away and disappeared among the dunes and palms. Despairingly, Fenella discovered that it was nearly a quarter past four. The boys returned with two men. Then suddenly, behind them, appeared the tall, loping form of Carlos. Fenella's heart plunged into the depths. She would have given any101

thing, in that instant, to sink gracefully and for ever into the Indian Ocean. The rescue went forward with humiliating deliberation, in the presence of four excited spectators. Carlos jumped easily from rock to rock till he was facing her, unsmilingly, across the five feet of bubbling water. He leaned over and stretched out his hand. "Give me first your shoes. Now take my hand and leap when I tell you. This rock is big and there is no hurry." But Fenella's balance must have been sadly disturbed. She leapt, and jarred Carlos so violently that he went down on one hand to save them both. "I'm just . . . hopeless," she panted. "I'm so sorry, Carlos." "There is no harm done," he said shortly. "Let us go." When, in a moment, they trod upon sand, he waited while she put on her shoes. Very politely, he thanked the schoolboys for their efforts, and when one of them begged to be allowed aboard his yacht, he invited both to a picnic on deck the following Sunday. Carlos did not speak until they had left the beach and were crossing the esplanade. Then he said, "We will tell Antonie that you had forgotten the time. No one else need hear about this childish escapade." Which reduced still further Fenella's stature in her own eyes. Antonie was in the car, reading a periodical. She accepted her cousin's brief explanation and shook her freshly perfumed curls at Fenella. "That was naughty. Now we shall be late at the house of the English people." "We are not going there." Carlos inserted the ignition key and turned it. "There was no appointment, so it does not matter." Antonie shrugged. "I do not, in any case, much care for tea. We will wait and have some refreshment at the Quinta." She made a sharp sound of concern. "Carlos! What have you done to your hand?" "It is nothing." He flipped a folded handkerchief from his pocket and placed it in his palm. "I caught it on the rough trunk of a tree." 102

"But it is deep—a horrid gash." She had taken his hand between her own and was gently stanching the wound. "Let us find a chemist and have it dressed. Please, Carlos." "It will do till we get home. Now leave it, or you will spoil your dress with blood." Sitting in the back of the car, Fenella guessed that Carlos had injured his hand when she had flung herself upon him from the rock. If only she could have unleashed the tension from her system by voicing tenderness and contrition. The car pulled out. Fenella remained silent till they were nearing Machada, when she begged to de dropped at the mission. To watch Antonie cleaning and dressing the torn hand was more than she would be able to bear. On Sundays Fenella tried firmly to forget eveything but the mission, Maria and Austin. She drifted into the habit of leaving the two alone for half and hour after lunch, and this earned the gratitude of Maria, at least. Austin was less expansive, and Fenella thought she knew why. It was natural in a man to loathe such a situation. The whole business tilted at his manhood, and he probably squirmed inwardly at his own helplessness. There was one afternoon when the car did not come for Maria till later than usual. In the hammock on the side veranda Fenella looked at her watch and wondered whether to propose an early cup of tea. Her father had gone into Alimane for a day's golf, and the mission was steeped in Sabbath tranquillity. Cicadas sang and the redwings fluttered between the bushes, but they were no more disturbing than the whisper of the breeze over the thatchd roof. Reluctantly, Fenella reached her feet to the floor and stretched her limbs She would switch on the kettle and get out cups and some cakes; Maria was always pleased to be included in English customs. Fenella made her way to the back door, and found it locked. That meant she would have to make apologies to Austin and Maria and slip through the lounge. Oh, well, it couldn't be helped. She sauntered round past the hammock to the front of the house and reached for the knob of the french window. The next instant she had stepped 103

back and flattened herself against the white distempered wall. When her heart had steadied she grew angry at her own girlish reaction to the scene she had witnessed. Of course they kissed, she told herself fiercely. They were in love and this was all they had; a fleeting half-hour in which to unburden the accumulated despondency of a week and reassure one another for the week to come. Stupid to be distressed for Maria and annoyed with Austin. They had clung together and kissed in mutual need. She moved a few paces to the corner of the house and stood in the angle of the veranda wall. Her knees were weak, and her hands quivering till she tightened them at her sides. One felt compassion for people like Maria and Austin—one didn't envy them. Yet an anguish had risen in her breast and her eyelids stung with tears. She did envy them what they possessed of each other; sweet words and joined lips. The chauffeur-driven car had halted in front of the house before Fenella saw it. She had no time to stir before Maria came swiftly from the lounge, cheeks flushed, eyes alight and red mouth parted. As had become his practice, Austin remained indoors—because chauffeurs are as capable as anyone else of adding two and two. "Good-bye, Fenella!" Maria exclaimed. "Till next Sunday, unless we have the good fortune to meet before then. You are generous to me, cara, and I will always be thankful that we are good friends." The girl was gone, and in a minute or so Austin appeared ,at Fenella's side. "The car was nearly half an hour late," he said. "Where did you get to?" "I rested in the hammock. I think I must have dozed for a while." Fenella hoped her voice did not reflect the rasping quality of her thoughts. "Austin, can't you do something about Maria?" He leaned comfortably against the corner post and folded his arms. "Are we back at this once more? Any suggestions, my sweet?" "Well . . . what about seeing her father again?" 104

"Again?" He let a moment slip by. "Yon don't suppose I've ever approached him seriously, do you? I'm not the sort to chase trouble." "But you said . . ." she began spiritedly. "I said that Senhor de Cardena had given me to understand that his future son-in-law must have money. So he did. He probably trots out the same warning to any man who looks twice at Maria, in order to discourage the impecunious from the outset. Large-hearted of the old boy, really." Fenella was silent, aware of a hardness in him which had never before been noticeable. The truth was that the situation had grown beyond her. Five weeks ago, when Maria had first contrived a meeting with Austin at the doctor's house, the affair had worn an aura of romance and naive simplicity. The next step, allowing them a brief time alone together, had happened so naturally that Fenella was not sure whether it had been managed by herself or Austin. With dangerous speed other elements had crept in . . . and Maria was more in love with Austin than ever. And what of Austin? Did he intend to allow the affair to drag on for months? "It's my opinion," he said conversationally, "that women flay themselves with their own intensity. You're as bad as the rest, Fenella. I'm surprised at you." "You've no reason to be—I'm anxious for Maria, that's all. Where will it end?" "Why should it end? I've known her for over a year and we understand each other. I wouldn't harm her for the world—she's well aware of that." "Then why not go to her father? He's fond of her, and if he can be convinced that she loves you he may help you both financially." Austin's shrug was careless. "As I said once before, you don't know the Portuguese. It's a long, long time since I was last invited to the de Cardenas. They haven't a ghost of a notion that I've been seeing Maria, and a sudden declaration now would send all the masculine hands to the sword-hilts. After they'd cut my heart out they'd make her marry me without a dowry. You don't realise how important the dowry becomes when you marry 105

a girl from the idle rich. Maria's a nice child, but an unpractical one. She's never worked in her life." "Need you regard it from such a drastic angle? Can't you call on her family a few times, to break down their prejudice? I'm sure they'd give in eventually, if you were completely open with them." "Bless your innocence. You don't see the half of it, my pet." In comradely fashion he lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. "The trouble is, we don't really belong here, Fenella. Owing to the dominance of the Pereira family, Machada is more Portuguese than any other town in Mozambique—if you'd travelled in the rest of the Province you'd know what I'm getting at. The fact that Carlos Pereira is going to marry his cousin will influence the rest of the inhabitants. The English are popular here, but the conservative families down in the old town won't want them as in-laws." Rather dully, she said, "Aren't you looking a little far ahead? Carlos isn't even engaged yet, and you could become engaged to Maria to-morrow, if you wished, and settle everything quickly." He smiled easily. "Stop worrying, you delightful idiot. Plenty of time for that when Maria starts losing her sparkle. May we have a cup of tea?" Fenella left him and went to the kitchen. The square, white-tiled room gleamed from all surfaces: streamlined cooker and refrigerator, china cupboard with glass doors, the white-enamelled surfaces of the table and two chairs. She made tea and piled a dish with home-made biscuits. She pushed back her hair and stood for a moment gazing through the window at the well-worn grass between the house and Antonio's hut, and at the bed of cannas which bloomed prodigally without attention and were already six feet high. Beyond the hibiscus hedge rose the magnolias; their sweetness was suddenly too lush and sickening. Swallowing resolutely on the constriction in her throat, she picked up the tray and bore it out to the veranda. She would be glad to give ,Austin his tea and get rid of him. Fenella spent that Sunday evening alone in the lounge, writing to Aunt Anna. She had a great deal to tell Miss 106

Harcourt, though there was much more that she dare not put into writing. The pages were filled with gay references to her days at the Quinta—when she and Antonie painted materials or did still-life water-colours—and with more detailed descriptions of incidents at the mission among the natives. She included news about her progress in learning Portuguese, and finished with a message of goodwill to Mr. Gilson, the tenacious schoolmaster. Her father came home with the tale of how they had had to abandon the golf match and devote their energies to hunting hundreds of land crabs from the Alimane course, so Fenella added that piece of information in an entertaining postscript. Breakfast had just been cleared the following morning when a note came by hand from Maria. Mystified, Fenella read the large, untidy scribble. "Please come to us for coffee at eleven this morning, but behave as if you had called for a moment, unasked. There is a letter which you must deliver for me, but I dare not trust it to the driver, who already knows too much. Do come, Fenella." The request was inconvenient, to say the least. Apart from the fact that Fenella was due at the Quinta at ten, there happened to be the matter of transport down to the other side of town. Carlos would not object if she kept the car which would call at a quarter to ten, but Antonie, and particularly Tia Supervia, might become anxious if she did not arrive at the Quinta on time; they might even feel compelled to send another car and create a situation which would entail extensive explanations that might prove extremely awkward. No, she must think up some other way to travel the three miles to the de Cardena residence. So when the Pereira car turned up, she gave the chauffeur a note for Antonie • and told him to call again at twelve. And then she went out to enquire if a car were available for a short, visit to town. Dr. Harcourt's two-seater stood outside the clinic ready to take him to the native reserve; even had she been able to drive Fenella could not have appropriated it. The only other vehicles were the mission 107

jeep and the sedan which belonged to Senhor Seixas. The latter had taken the Seixas family to the coast an hour ago, and the jeep was having a wheel changed. There seemed to be no alternative to walking. It was no hotter than usual but in her anxiety to accomplish her errand quickly Fenella may have set off too briskly. Before long her pulses were pounding, and her head, moist under the straw crown of her hat, had a dull, concentrated ache. With every step her opinion of Maria deteriorated. This was no joke, having to tramp all the way in grilling heat merely to satisfy some whim of Maria's. For whim it must be. Less than a day had elapsed since the girl had gaily and securely parted from Austin. Soon Fenella could not think with much clarity. The streets of Machada encompassed her in a wet, throbbing heat. She was relieved when the church came into view and the trees were more thickly clustered in the gardens. Senhora de Gardena would doubtless consider her mad, but there would be coolness and a chair to sink into. She turned along the curved drive, entered an arched porch and pulled a worn rope which connected with a cracked-sounding bell at the back of the premises. A servant answered and she stepped into the dark hall. An inner door opened, letting in a slant of light, and Maria was framed there, her hands outstretched. "Fenella! You are too good to call. How my mother will be pleased!" It was all well-handled by a surprisingly competent if somewhat brittle Maria. The senhora was taking coffee with two middle-aged friends, and the English of all the older women was practically non-existent. Maria made glib references to her own devout attendance at the mission services; Fenella became the target for three pairs of eyes and was offered a glass of coffee, which brought a fresh ooze to her temples. The room was cool, yet stifling because the windows were closed against the hot wind which might deposit a few particles of dust upon the furniture. Fenella was not sorry when Maria made a signal and begged to be excused while she accompanied Fenella to the door. She was a minx. this Maria, and more full of cunning than a monkey. 108

Yet when they were in the porch with the door shut behind them, it was obvious that beneath a touch of rouge Maria's face had the stark pallor of fright. "What's happened?" Fenella demanded quickly. "A mishap, an unfortunate occurrence," came the jerky reply. "I cannot explain, Fenella, but Austin must be told as soon as possible, so that he can decide what we are to do. I have written it in this letter"—she drew it from a pocket and thrust it upon Fenella. "How soon can you see him?" "Not till he comes next week-end. You know that." "But you must do this for me. It is . . ." she searched frantically for the word and fell back on an idiom she had no doubt gleaned from Austin. "It is life and death. You must go to the camp." "That's fantastic, Maria. I have no business at all at the camp and if I were seen there it would cause a rumpus. I haven't a car at my disposal, as you have, and even if I could hire one in the town the thing would be too risky." "Once you have the car there is no risk for you. An English woman can go anywhere, without question. No one would dare to stop you." "If Senhor Pereira heard about it he'd be furious. I'll try to send the letter for you . . ." "No, no!" Her tone was terrified. "There is no one I can trust but you. I would go myself as I have gone before, but . . . things have happened, and I am unable to leave the house, even while my mother rests." "What things?" "I am afraid to tell you. You are so straight, you could not do mean things. Do not believe that I am bad—there is nothing like that about me—but I love Austin so much that I would do anything to be with him. If I have lied and deceived it is only for that reason. Now, everything is threatened." "Has your father found out about him?" Maria was trembling. "It is not yet as terrible as that." She flung a glance at a large window. "Go now, Fenella, and please take the letter to Austin, if not to-day tomorrow. No later than to-morrow morning. I will feel so much happier once he has it. You promise?", "How can I promise?" .

109

"Your father will drive you this evening, when his duties are finished You will say it is a pleasure trip— anything to stay his curiosity. I must go in. My mother will be calling me. Adeus, Fenella!" Maria squeezed her arm and fled inside. Her caution was so odd that Fenella had walked several blocks before she dismissed it and set her mind to work on the immediate problem. Maria's assumption that the doctor should be dragged into it was irresponsible and selfish. She didn't care who was implicated so long as her own ends were satisfactorily met. Fenella had no intention of stealing her father's well-earned leisure, for Maria or anyone else; in fact she was half-inclined to write to Austin herself, telling him that she held an important letter to him from Maria and that he had better come and get it. But almost at once she knew that that would not do. She was already in this up to the neck, and there could be no avoiding its unpleasant complications. She came out into the Avenida. The wide thoroughfare, with its dividing line of palms and flowering trees, appeared to extend ahead into eternity. Native boys, large baskets slung on their arms or balanced on their heads, were shopping for the residents of the more populous part of the town. Indians dawdled negligently along the kerb. The few white folk on the pavement were men, on business bent. The headache was pressing in again. A little desperately Fenella examined the few passing cars, hoping to recognise an acquaintance. In hospitable Machada one had only to ask even a stranger for a lift for the plea to be granted. But natural reticence is not so easily overcome. Fenella continued walking till the Avenida was left behind and she reached the long, deserted road from which the track to the mission was an offshoot. What to do about the letter for Austin she had not so far decided. The news it contained might be urgent—she recalled the bleakness and fear in Maria's expression—and Fenella would be to blame if anything went amiss because Austin had not received it in time to act in some way or other. Hopeless to try and work it out while hammers beat so unmercifully inside her skull. She must take aspirin and rest. 110

In the distance an ox-wagon plodded, and Fenella was reminded of the morning the tourists had come to the mission and she had viewed this road through the American's binoculars. There had been two ox-carts then, followed by Carlos in his car. Hazily, she heard a "beep" behind her. A car passed and pulled into the grass at the edge of the road. A man jumped out and came striding towards her. It couldn't be Carlos; thinking a miracle couldn't make it materialise. But it was Carlos; very much so.

111

CHAPTER NINE HIS voice had the ring of metal as he demanded, "What are you doing? Why are you walking here in the sun?" "I had to go to town." Fenella didn't know that anxiety and the headache had darkened her eyes. "There was no car, so I had to foot it." "You are a lunatic!" he said violently. "Get into the car immediately." She did, and straightway felt the prickle of sweat as she lay back. Carlos got in, too, and slammed his door. But he made no effort to start the car. He sat sideways, his mouth tight as he stared at her. "Is it . . . warmer to-day?" she enquired dazedly. "It is much warmer. I thought you were at the Quinta." "I had a message early this morning, so when your car came at a quarter to ten I sent it back." "Why, in the name of sanity, did you not use it!" She gestured helplessly. "I didn't need it till nearly eleven. I couldn't keep it hanging about for an hour or more. Antonie might have wondered." "In an hour there was time to send a note to Antonie and for the car to return to the mission." "Good heavens," she said, with a small show of spirit. "I don't do that sort of thing. I've no right to use your car as if it were a taxi." "Yet you knew," he said emphatically, "that that is what I would have wished. You knew it when you sent the car back to the Quinta, didn't you?" "I suppose so, but I felt I couldn't do it without your permission." She hesitated. "To be honest, six miles didn't seem so far before I started." "Six miles! So you have not been to the post office or to a shop. You have walked to the old town. You have trudged through the hot streets because you were too proud to borrow my car. I was going to apologise for calling you a lunatic, but now I shall not. You are worse than a fool, Fenella. You deserve to be whipped." His thumb jabbed the starter. "We will go now to the Quinta and you will lie down before lunch." 112

"I'd rather go home," she said quietly. The engine purred. Carlos turned and looked at her. "You feel you cannot relax at the Quinta? I have suspected it. Tell me why." "I'd prefer to go home," she evaded. "So that I can put on a fresh dress." "Something is changing you and I do not like it," he said critically. "You are no longer as candid as when you first came to Machada. I would still trust you—it is not that. But you hide your thoughts and purposely make yourself difficult to comprehend. Is it possible that you are unhappy, pequena?" Since he had last called her "pequena" Fenella had learned that in the sense he used it the word meant "little one." She stiffened against this rare gentleness. "On the contrary, senhor. I can imagine no greater happiness than to go on living with my father." "That is not true," he said, ignoring her tone. "To live with one's father is only the beginning. You must have realised that, since you are now experiencing your first affair." Hard mockery overlaid the gentleness. "It is painful é nao, this first squeezing of the heart, this dreadful longing for the touch of hands and lips? You did not know it could hurt so much!" On the point of mentioning the headache Fenella changed her mind. She would not trot out so obvious a bid for his sympathy while he was baiting her with such deliberate cruelty. She clasped her hands in her lap and raised her chin. "You are .right, senhor, but for all that I would not be without heart. The cynic may avoid pain, but he also misses the sweet things in life." The grey glance went steely. "For 'cynic' you would doubtless substitute 'Carlos.' Because I will not treat gravely this childish infatuation of yours for a spineless creature who happens to be English, I am a man without heart and understanding. There are times, Fenella, when I dislike you . . . just a little." And I you, she thought sincerely. Where was the sense in arguing with him? While Austin continued to be a regular week-end visitor at the doctor's house, Carlos would never be convinced that he did not come at her invitation, 113

and expressely to see her. Carlos hadn't got over what he deemed the personal affront of her choosing Sunday lunch with Austin in preference to a week-end on the yacht. He considered his superintendent negligible and unworthy, and admitted that he kept him on at the camp merely because one does not cast off an old friendship like a shoddy cloak. In a way it was a relief that he misconstrued Austin's frequent presence at the mission. Better that he should attribute her malaise to an unsatisfactory flirtation than guess at the truth. That would be intolerable. She became conscious of the almost imperceptible vibration of the engine. "I'm sorry I annoy you," she said. "Will you please take me to the mission, Carlos?" "I will take you to the mission," he agreed, "and wait while you change your dress. I must ask you to be quick, so that Antonie shall not be too disturbed." Three minutes later he had stopped outside the doctor's house and was helping her from the car. She said, "There's no need to wait, Carlos. I told your chauffeur to come back for me at twelve, and it's nearly that already." "Nevertheless, I will wait and send him away. It is not often that I inspect the mission." In the brilliant light he regarded her keenly. "There are smudges wader your eyes. Is it the headache?" She nodded. "I walked too quickly." "You are also worried about something. Go in, now. Later, you must tell me what you have on your mind, and I will help you." He said it flatly, as though there were no problem of hers that he could not solve. She was tempted to unburden herself right away, to say, "I must hand a letter to Austin Frankland. Please instruct your chauffeur to drive me to the camp this afternoon." But she could be sure that Carlos would not act without posing questions. Blind compliance from him was too much to expect and she dare not bring Maria's name into it. She smiled at him faintly, and went in to take a tepid dip and slip on a fresh frock. When she came back to the lounge Carlos was there. Without speaking, he filled 114

a tumbler from a carafe of fresh water, dropped two large tablets into and, after watching them effervesce for a second, made her drain the glass. "I begged them from the dispenser," he said. "They will clear the head. Make yourself comfortable for ten minutes." "But Antonie . . ." "The car has come and gone. She will know." He lowered himself into an easy-chair across the room from where she sat, and stretched long, white-trousered legs. "What is it that troubles you?" Fenella was ready for this. "A detail, senhor, which I can set right myself now that I'm more composed." "You are still angry with me because I did not show sufficient respect for the object of your ,tender emotions. I cannot show what I do not feel, my child." His mouth was smiling, revealing white, even teeth, but his eyes did not smile. "We will be quiet, then, till you are ready to move." He reached for a magazine and opened it, shutting her out, thought Fenella, because he would not tolerate independence in a woman. He couldn't be expected to divine how desperately she ached to depend on him, how gladly she would have placed her whole existence in his hands. He turned a page and began reading; she was supposed to close her eyes and give the tablets a chance to work. But she could not withdraw her glance from the pink scar in his palm which, even at this distance, was clearly visible above the edge of the page his fingers held. With a superlative effort she forced herself to think about the letter which she had transferred to her dress pocket. Incredible that it should be so difficult to travel undetected to the camp. She had never heard of Machada possessing a cab rank, though it was not beyond the limits of possibility. A directory might divulge the necessary telephone number, but the only telephone was in the clinic; true, it had an extension to her father's surgery, which was just through the door over there, but numbers were obtained by the nurse on duty and a private call would surely rouse curiosity. For several reasons a taxi or a borrowed car from outside the mission was out of the 115

question. But she really must decide on a course to follow before to-morrow morning. Restlessly, she pushed up from her chair and went to the door. Carlos tossed aside his journal and joined her. "The head is better?" "Yes . . . yes, thank you, it's much better. The tablets did the trick." Drawing in her lip she looked at him Carlos, I can't go with you to the Quinta to-day." He elevated one brow. "This is very sudden, is it not .. . and just a trifle ungracious? It was all arranged yesterday; we are to have an early lunch—though it will not be so early, after all—and a drive inland. You have not forgotten that I would introduce you and Antonie to a very old senhora who makes beautiful lace?" She had forgotten. In a flash she was feverishly alert. The lacemaker of Ibana!' And Ibana was .. . "Forgive me. Yes, I am ungracious," she said hurriedly. "I'll go with you, Carlos. I would not wish to disappoint Antonie." His glance had a curious intensity, and his lips thinned with suspicion or scorn, or some emotion equally unpleasant. With deadly clairvoyance Fenella knew that she had let herself down in his esteem. How fatally easy it is to say the wrong thing; how impossible to retract. The journey to the Quinta was almost wordless. Antonie came down to the courtyard to meet them. Her olive skin glowed in contrast with the pale lavender silk dress she wore. "But how late you both are," she exclaimed. "Lunch has been ready for half an hour." With all of his charm Carlos smiled down upon her. "Bear with us, little cousin, and allow me five minutes to wash from my hands a morning's accumulation of grime. Fenella will explain that she had a bad head and could not come earlier." Over lunch Antonie was bright, almost gay. During the past weeks she had gradually lost the languor and sadness and also the look of extreme thinness. Her smile was a blend of spontaneity and practised art. With Fenella's assistance she had revived a talent for flower-painting, and an interest in music. In the smaller salon she often sat at .

the grand piano and played songs, to which she herself 116

sang the airs in a clear contralto voice. When there were men about she even coquetted a little, though with Carlos her behaviour was less subtle, and much more confiding. Carlos was so good to her, so considerate, stated Antonie; though sometimes it must tax his ingenuity and cause him much bother, he procured everything she asked for. He was undoubtedly urn primo caro! Which, the way she said it, sounded much too lush to be translated into "a dear cousin." Though Fenella's manipulation of the keys would have compared creditably with Antonie's, she never played the grand. Her first refusal had been so definite that Carlos had not suggested it again; nor had he ever enquired whether Antonie was teaching her the love-songs. It seemed to satisfy him that at last the piano was being brought to life by a beautiful woman. For there was now no doubt about Antonie's beauty. As her days at the Quinta lengthened she took on a bloom which deepened the dark irises of her eyes and put petals in her cheeks. Her inherent poise lent her an air of sophistication which Fenella thought must be irresistible to a man accustomed to the small-town dignity of the women of Machada. The business men who came to see Carlos did not disguise their admiration of his young and comely kinswoman. To-day, siesta was forgone. Tia Supervia put on a large black hat and an unnecessary jacket and took her place in the front seat of the car while the girls shared the back. Carlos sent a servant for parasols, and soon they were sailing along between the blue gums, whose vermillion fuzz had departed leaving brown nuts where they had been, and the wind of speed filled the car with a seeming coolness. They drove through the outer residential avenues of the town. Bougainvillea dripped over walls and from branches, along with bignonia and golden shower. Hibiscus flamed, and from the grass sidewalks tiny orchids peeped, pale blue, dusty-pink and yellow. Fleetingly Fenella recalled the yellow orchid she had caught from the flower-boat at the festa, and as a natural thought-sequence the scene with Carlos came back, misted and unreal. The exotic moon and Carlos gripping her shoulders, the raging breath 117

upon her forehead . . . all must surely have been part of a dream. They left the town and followed the main road through the plantations. Tall trees grew on each side, to screen off the interminable coconut palms beyond. Fenella reflected how accustomed one became to seeing huge, luxuriant flowers rioting wild among the roots of banana and bamboo, and the bright-feathered birds which skimmed across the vision. As far as the sisal factory the road was familiar. Previously, Carlos had angled to the right towards the ebonies, or taken a track to the left, which led to a native village. Now, he went straight on between fields of sisal, where natives were stripping the tough outer leaves and loading them into an ox-cart. "Until a few years ago," he said, "we could not farm with oxen. The tsetse fly killed them. Then we sprayed a poison by plane; it took about a week. There is no more tsetse fly and our cattle thrive." "We need your spray-plane for the vineyard pests in Portugal!" declared Antonie, smiling. "You do not grow grapes, Carlos?" "Of course we grow grapes. You have eaten them for dessert." "But for wine, I mean." "We make no wine. It would be impracticable to grow on such a scale because the grapes ripen so fast and hundreds of pounds would be wasted. As you know, only grapes in first-class condition can be used for wine." His back moved in the characteristic shrug. "Why should we make it when there is plenty of excellent quality from Oporto and Maderia? You do not wish to imperil your export trade?" "No, but wherever I lived I would wish to make wine. It is one of the joyous things in life. I like the grape harvest and the smell of the fermenting juice, and I like the merry-making when the wine is casked and everyone will taste it although it is not yet ready." She smiled at Fenella. "It is extraordinary that you do not drink much of it in England. Wine makes glad the heart." 118

"Fenella does not need wine for that purpose," said Carlos evenly. "She has other means of uplifting her heart." Fenella's nerves were so taut that she could manage no more than a forced widening of her lips at Antonie. They must be drawing fairly near to the camp. From what she knew of Carlos he would sweep past with an airy gesture. And if the excursion to the lacemaker were protracted, it would be dark on the homeward trip. Dare she postpone seeing Austin till to-morrow? She visualised a tormented night and a comfortless dawn. Perhaps it would be safer to go to her father. That she had been a sort of conspirator with Austin and Maria might anger him, but such anger would have to be borne. It would grieve her, though, to damage the understanding and sympathy which was growing between them. And wasn't it probable that he would forbid both Austin and Maria to the house? What a catastrophe that might turn out to be, just when Maria needed her most! In tones which strove to be casual, she said, "Isn't the camp on this road, Carlos?" "It is, my child," he replied, as if that disposed of the subject. "I've never seen it." "You will see it soon. The clearing is easily visible from the road." It seemed as if he was reading her mind through the back of his head and maliciously making her task harder. Steeling herself against him, she plunged. "We've plenty of time. May we stop there for ten minutes?" The moment of tension was snapped by an amicable remark from Antonie. "Why should we not do that, Carlos? The camp is a model one, very big, very clean, and you have told us you are proud of it." She kindled, and tapped his sleeve. "And is not the Senhor Frankland there? Certainly we must stop, so that Fenella may exchange the small greeting with her namorado! I shall be charmed to meet him." For a searing minute Fenella hated Antonie . . . almost as much as she hated Carlos. Her hands stung with the pressure of her nails, and her teeth ached with the 119

clamping of her jaws. She sat back in her corner, uncaring in that moment what Carlos did. Quite soon she caught a glimpse of the conical thatched roofs, and experienced a rush of gratitude when Tia Supervia became excited about the settlement, pointing with her small, thin hands. "How it is pretty, Carlos," the woman said. "The creamcoloured circular huts and the brown thatch, with much space between and many trees. I should enjoy to go inside one of those huts." "You shall go inside, Tia. Now we come to the track, and we will park under a tree. So." On the camp side the track was lined with gums. On the other stood a white house in a trim green lawn, and about two-hundred yards away squatted a smaller dwelling, which Fenella guessed was the house of Miguel, 'Austin's assistant. Miguel apparently had a wife, for two children played on a swing which hung from the branches of a tree, and a third crawled in the shade of a palm-roofed garden shelter. From the white house a man emerged, hastily slipping on a jacket and straightening it as he dropped down to the grass and came towards them. "Here is our superintendent," said Carlos crisply. "We have interrupted his nap." To Austin he added with sarcasm, "Good afternoon, my friend. We shall not keep you long from your work. The ladies wish to inspect a hut." Although no specific introduction had been effected, Austin bowed and gave that easy smile of his. His glance at Fenella was rueful, and he appeared not to notice what her eyes struggled to convey. "Shall I lead the way, senhor?" "Please. And choose a but which is empty. Do not offend any of the native womenfolk." "Most of them are at the back, in the fields." Austin indicated a footpath which wound through the belt of gums and went ahead. The party came out into the camp clearing, which extended more than half a mile in each direction. Each but was set in a square of beaten earth which was enclosed by a low palisade of plaited straw; this was to encourage privacy and happiness, and it also obviated the stealing of a neighbour's chickens. One 120

could see tiny brown bodies rolling in the dust, and outside one of the huts a woman was grinding maize between two stones while another nearby was weaving a head-dress. Fenella was in no mood for sight-seeing. She dipped her head and followed the others into a hut, saw, without taking in, the primitive brick fireplace and the skins hanging from the roof beams, the grass mats upon which the natives slept, the assegais with which they attacked an itinerant leopard, and occasionally one another, and a few gourds of assorted shapes and sizes. Carlos was dilating upon the customs; the women kept to one side of the but and the men to the other; polygamy was discouraged but never punished, and so on. Austin remained outside the opening. Fenella could see him from the chest down, his hands in his pockets, one foot forward in a careless posture. Unobtrusively, she slid out into the sunshine and confronted him. He flung a quick look into the hut. "Something wrong?" he whispered. "I've a letter for you, from Maria. Please draw back a bit, Austin." He did, and she followed. The voices of Carlos and Antonie sounded perilously close, and with her hand on the letter in her pocket, she panicked, and rolled it small. Austin's face darkened. "We were together only yesterday, for longer than we've ever had before. What the deuce has she got to write about?" "She wouldn't say, but it's urgent and she was terribly frightened. Take it, Austin, and slip it out of sight at once." Perhaps reluctance to hear ill news made him slow, or perhaps he had expected the others to stay longer in the hut. Whatever it was, he obeyed a second too late. Carlos had come out and was standing a yard away, narrowly intent upon their tell-tale closeness. Then Fenella's hand was sharply withdrawn. Unsteadily, and on a pitch slightly above narmal, she said : "I hope Tia Supervia is pleased with what she has seen." Carlos ignored this banality as it deserved. He turned to assist first the older woman and then Antonie through the opening. His fingers remained lightly flexed upon 121

his cousin's elbow, as he said, "You have had your wish, Tia. We will now seek out the senhora who makes exquisite lace. You may desire to order some, Antonie." And he walked away between the two women, leaving Fenella to be escorted by Austin. Now that conversation on the beastly topic was no longer restricted, Fenella could find nothing whatever to say. She had delivered the letter and placated both her conscience and her sense of loyalty. However Carlos interpreted the brief handclasp, he could hardly think worse of her than he had thought ten minutes ago. Fenella got back into the car with a weight of misery behind her eyelids and a scorching lump in her throat.

122

CHAP TER TEN THE deflated feeling hung on for several days, and most of the time Fenella spent helping Mrs. Westwood and her husband at the mission. "You have forsaken the Quinta," commented the missionary's wife archly. "I suppose the ravishing cousin is quite dug in there now?" Fenella nodded. It was unnecessary to explain that she had told Antonie she must be free for the rest of the week. She had no wish to enter upon a debate with Mrs. Westwood. "I've been slacking," she said. "Give me lots to do to make up for it." Mrs. Westwood complied, first with a heap of worn primers which had to be sewn up and rebound for Lario's new class of adolescents. It was a tedious job, but Fenella did it on the mission veranda where she could pause and watch the piccaninnies playing or the older girls at their beadwork. The boys were round the corner, invisible but audible while they learned to make stools and tables for their own huts. They never used the articles but were inordinately proud of possessing them. The tidy piles of arithmetic-and reading-books were some reward for a long, colourless day. Fenella placed them upon their shelf and, next day, turned her attention to seaming up a new supply of children's smocks on the antiquated sewing-machine. Then, with the missionary's permission, she cleared all the old examples of the pupils' drawing efforts from the walls of the mission hall, and set the children competing with one another all over again. Thus the week dragged by. On Saturday the mission was closed and Dr. Harcourt's patients were few. A special market was being held on the edge of the native reserve, and the Tonga had decided to postpone treatment of their ailments in order to haggle for goods which they had no intention of buying. For the first time since Fenella had come to Machada, Robert Harcourt took a book of fiction outside with him, and arranged himself for an afternoon's simple relaxation. 123

When she brought tea he laid the book on the tiled floor beside his chair, pulled up another chair, and smiled across at her. "Considering that we share the house, it's odd how seldom you and I are alone," he said. "Either you're wafted away in a palatial limousine, or I have to swallow a hurried meal and dash off to set right the wrongs of some witch-doctor." He accepted his tea and took two lumps of sugar. "This is more how it should be. It's nice." "What about private practice?" she asked, twisting the dish of cakes so that his favourite tartlets were nearest him. "You used to like it in England. Is there more satisfaction in curing the African?" "For me—yes. I could go in for private practice in Machada if I wished—the other doctors have proposed it and I daresay the authorities would allow it—but my place is at the mission, where I'm most needed." With some relish he bit into a small fruit tart. Fenella stirred her tea. The quietness and her father's company were soothing. His next remark, however, rather stabbed at tranquillity. How long have you been here, Fenella—about four months, isn't it?" "Nearly." "That means you have two more to go. What do you think about it?" "About staying the two months—or going?" He used an embroidered napkin. His eyes crinkled at her with some affection. "About Machada. I've so grown into the habit of having you with me that it's going to be a wrench when you leave. But I won't be selfish. You have your life before you and it wouldn't be fair to .keep you away from your English people." He paused. "At the beginning I hoped you and Austin would take to each other, but since I've been seeing him more often I'm thankful you didn't. He's unstable, and by no means good enough for you." "In any case, there's Aunt Anna," she said. Her father laughed a little. "If Anna doesn't care for being left to her own devices in England she has a remedy, an excellent one. We can always build on an extra bedroom." 124

The smile faded. "Seriously, though, I do feel I've failed in my duty to you. I was so lost when your mother died that I had to get out and work hard. Anna was only about twenty-six then, but she was anxious to take you on, and I thought it best all round. I can see now that it wasn't, but regrets are useless. It's up to me to do what I can for you from now on. You know I want you to marry, Fenella. That's why you can't remain here indefinitely." Again she used her teaspoon, and watched its rotations. With grim flippancy she enquired, "Would you object to a Portuguese son-in-law?" "Good heavens, no. From what I've seen of them they're a wonderful people, and very devoted husbands. But I'm not blind, my dear, even if I do behave that way sometimes. If one of them drives you home from a party you're as chilly as winter with him . . . an English winter," he qualified humorously. "It seems to me' that your safest plan, would be to go home and marry a doctor. Then you can bring him to Machada and he'll have the choice between private practice and following on where I shall eventually leave off." Upon which light note he changed the subject. In fact, the two months in front of her appeared to Fenella an appalling no-man's land of days and nights. She daren't even contemplate them, particularly in her present mood of hopelessness and dread. So presently she, too, brought out a book and dozed over it. The next day, Sunday, Maria did not come to the mission service, but when Fenella returned to the house at twelve-thirty the de Cardena car was outside and the Portuguese girl was in the lounge, alone. Maria swung round from the window, and in an instant Fenella was aware of her atmosphere of tragedy and fright. Maria was wan and hollow-eyed, her lips quivered and a spot of blood showed where she had bitten them. She took her setbacks so terribly seriously. "Oh, Fenella," she said in a voice of anguish, and swallowed hard on a throatful of tears. "Thank goodness you have come at last. What am I going to do?" Fenella touched her wrist but did not succeed in making her sit down. "Tell me about it." 125

Maria gave a shuddering sigh. "You did give the letter to Austin?" "Yes, on Monday." "You gave it yourself ?" "Of course, Maria. No one else saw it." "He has not answered. Not one word. And unless he comes to-day I cannot wait to see him. We have someone important to lunch with us. I . .. cannot . . ." Tears ran down her cheeks and she dabbed at them as if disposing of them had its part in the conversation. Obviously she had wept a great deal lately, probably in the privacy of her bedroom. Fenella gave her a small compassionate smile Maria was so extravagant in everything she did. She had probably magnified her troubles enormously. "Wouldn't it be wiser to tell me what's upsetting you? After all, even if your father does discover that you and Austin have been meeting here, it can't matter so very much. There's no harm in a Sunday lunch, and it might even make him aware of what you really mean to each other." "You do not understand, Fenella. I am already betrothed . . . to someone else!" In that moment the breath seemed to have deserted Fenella's lungs. She gazed at the pale, distorted face and gradually the enormity of Maria's offence against Portuguese decorum seeped into her consciousness. Her breath came back in a rush of cold annoyance, which was only curbed by the sight of Maria's wretchedness. "Now you've started you may as well go on," she said. "How long have you been engaged?" "For two years. It is so comforting to confess." Again Maria brushed wetness from her thick black lashes. "He .. . the fiance, you call it . . . he is a lawyer meu apalavro in Alimane, a very good lawyer. My mother and father approve of him because he is grave and well-bred. Just now for many weeks he has been conducting a case in Lourenco Marques, but last week on Sunday evening he has come to see my father about wedding arrangements. The case is over and he is again in residence in Alimane. He much wishes for this marriage without more waiting." Her emotional stress was disturbing Maria's fine flow of 126

English. "Judge, then, how I am frightened, how desperate I am to see Austin. Surely he cannot comprehend my predicament ?" "A predicament of your own making," Fenella could not help reminding her. "You've acted unfairly with both men. If you'd been open with Austin from the start he would never have allowed things to go so far between you. Really, Maria . . ." "But Austin has known from the start!" Maria sounded almost virtuous. "Always I am honest with him about the fiance. My friends . . . everyone knew that I was engaged to Senhor Gainas—all but you, Fenella. Often I have feared that you would learn enough of the Portuguese!" This was unpleasant hearing, but there could be no sense in allowing fury the upper hand, thought Fenella. One thing at a time. "Austin has known," she echoed. "No wonder he was reluctant to be seen with you. But you clung to him, raced to the camp and put him in an invidious position with his employer. You made him afraid for what you might do next. So much so that he agreed to see you here every Sunday, to limit the risk. You've the brain of an irresponsible child, Maria. You don't deserve to be helped." "I am sorry." She did look dashed. "You would be sympathetic if you, too, were in love. But you are English. Austin has told me that English women are cold, that they think too much before they fall in love, whereas in love one should only feel. Please do not be angry, Fenella." Maria could not guess that it was an awareness of personal youth and inadequacy which made Fenella look tired and strained. To straighten out such a tangle required more knowledge and experience than Fenella possessed. She sighed. "You must have been engaged before Austin came to Mozambique." "I was." Eagerly, Maria expanded. "It was managed by my parents, who were pleased when Senhor Gainas showed me attention. I did not object because he was kind to me and it was fun to be engaged when many of my friends were not. For three months it was fun—till I met Austin at a party. He was new to the country and 127

his Portuguese was comical. My English also was comical in those days and we laughed and made the little pacto-a bargain: on me he would practise Portuguese—on him I would practise English. When I went home that night already I was in love with him." "You were infatuated because he was unlike anyone else you had ever known. Love doesn't happen that way." "With the English, no. With us it is different." Maria's shrug made her seem old and wise. "There is something which only two people hear—a chord of music, a bird-song —and they are in love." Fenella took a long breath. She knew, none better, that the heart moves as it will, without direction from the head. But Maria's lack of thought for others and the driving-force of whatever it was she felt for Austin had placed all three of them in a dangerous spot, from which she could see no way of escape. Point-blank, she asked, "What did you write to Austin?" "That my fiance had suddenly presented himself and desired to appoint an early date for marriage. I begged him to take me away." Fenella had to harden herself to say, "And what if he won't?" Maria stepped back and caught at the edge of a table. Her pallor had spread to her lips. "If he refuses," she' said passionately, "I will fall on my knees and wish to die." Weary of melodrama yet filled with a profound pity, Fenella turned aside to take off her hat while the other composed herself. But Maria was in no hurry to relinquish the fiery state into which she had whipped her emotions. "You are trying to hurt me, Fenella," she burst out. "You are making of Austin a monster who will take kisses and give nothing but the empty promise. But inside me I am sure he loves me with his heart and will protect me from marrying that sujo Senhor Gainas!" "A minute ago you admitted your fiancé was kind." "If he is, I do not care about him." As precipitately as she flared, Maria crumpled, like a gay ribbon consumed by heat. "Forgive me, Fenella. It is that I cannot think

of anything but Austin. He is in my thoughts all the hours I am awake. The Senhor Gainas comes to lunch with 128

us to-day to talk of the marriage settlement. My father says we are to be married in six weeks, but the settlement will be made lawful—legal—in a fortnight. I . . . I am fond of my father . . ." The depleted voice broke off, then added brokenly, "Austin will not come before one o'clock— he never does, and now I must leave or there will be harsh words. You will talk to him, Fenella? Only you can do this for me." Fenella gave her word, and went out with Maria to the car. There were formal good-byes for the driver's benefit, and as the car rolled away Fenella leaned back against the veranda post and held it with both hands. She was scared, more scared than she had allowed the other girl to realise. Maria, with an established fiance of whom her respectable parents heartily approved, was a vastly different proposition from the normally impetuous creature she had hitherto appeared. Duplicity had never been part of Fenella's nature, but until to-day she had seen no real harm in permitting the two to meet at the doctor's house one day a week. Foolishly, she had always visualised a conventional union away in the future. Solid ground had suddenly been cut from under her feet. They, Maria particularly, had not only misused Dr. Harcourt's hospitality; they had deliberately misled Fenella, taken advantage of her ignorance of Portuguese and of the fact that her acquaintance with the young people of the town was of the most casual. That anyone could treat her so meanly rather undermined her faith in human nature. What would be the consequence if the whole business became public knowledge? Senhor Gainas would withdraw to Alimane, and no other Portuguese would look at Maria; even if she married Austin the two would be ostracised from local society. And somehow, Fenella could not see Maria living elsewhere; her character had not the backbone necessary for happiness away from her kind. As for the town's opinion of her own contribution to the affair—that was an aspect upon which Fenella dare not dwell. Yet unbidden, rose the image of Carlos, those thin, aristocratic nostrils dilated with a contempt too shattering to contemplate. She would almost prefer that he went on believing what he believed now. 1083 129

She heard her father in the lounge behind her, and turned. "No one to lunch to-day?" he queried. "Maria's people have a guest, but there's still time for Austin to show up." "I thought she'd soon grow tired of it," he said disinterestedly. "Hallo Here is Austin." Fenella did not linger outside to watch the approach of the red sports car, and when Austin came into the diningroom she did not explain Maria's absence. His complacent acceptance of it confirmed her doubts and set her smouldering. As the meal progressed she surmised from his conversation that he had no plans for getting in touch with Maria this week-end. Late this afternoon he was going down to play tennis with friends, and he had promised to dine with some of them. Yesterday had been full; in the morning he had had to report at the Quinta—they had asked after Fenella, by the way—and the rest of the day he had spent in Alimane, bathing and golfing. The week-ends were much too short; thank heaven he would soon be due for a long vacation. "If I can rake up the plane fare I'll go to England," he said, grinning "I haven't been back for five years, and I ought to make it up with one of my elderly relatives. She owns quite a lot of property and she's getting on. I used to be her favourite nephew." "Another of those misguided aunts," commented Dr. Harcourt, sternly for him. Fenella said nothing. Austin had plainly been speaking for her information and guidance. No doubt he suspected that Maria had been here to-day, and this was his answer to her enquiries. But she did not intend to let him get away with it so lightly. When Dr. Harcourt went off for his rest, Fenella remained in the lounge. She took one of Austin's cigarettes and held it to the flame of his match. When they were both smoking she looked at him with more dispassionate discernment than ever before. He was handsome, all right; shaggy-browed and rugged-jawed, the sun-gold hair waving crisply back from his tanned forehead. There was charm too, in the faintly twinkling sea-blue eyes. Only his mouth 130

gave him away. It was weak and obstinately set at the corners. "I can't make up my mind," she said, "whether you're a bit of a cad or merely unfortunate." "Come now, Fenella." His smile was soft and compliant. "I'm not going to let you quarrel with me. I like you too much for that. What's eating you, my sweet? Has Maria been spilling distress all over you?" "Describe it like that, if you like. You've treated her abominably, Austin." "Have I? Is that the line she's taking?" "She's not taking any line. She's still crazy about you, and hoping that you'll step in like a fairy prince to rescue her from the dragon." "There you have it in the proverbial nutshell. Maria has never grown up; she still believes in fairy-tale heroics. Don't protest, Fenella—you know it's true." His shoulders lifted, and his tone was reasonable. "As a woman she's attractive and sweet, very easy to make love to, but her intellect is neglible. You can see that as plainly as I can. If I had to choose between you and Maria I'd a thousand times rather be marooned on a desert island with you." "Aren't you circling the subject?" "No, I'm not. I consider that you're entitled to an explanation, and an apology." He flicked ash from his cigarette and rested against the tall back of an easy-chair, with one hand in his pocket. "Until Maria and I had been acquainted for several weeks I hadn't heard of the existence of the fiance. When I did hear, the whole idea of it was repellent: the archaic custom of the father choosing the girl's husband and the fact she didn't even use the fellow's christian name . . . and other things. It sickened me that she might be pushed into the intimacy of marriage with a stranger. Since then it's come home to me that outlook and upbringing play a great part in such contracts, but at the time I was unwisely outspoken, in front of others. Maria's father went very high-hat and forbade me the house. He spoke to Carlos, after which I was transferred to the camp." Rumour had it, via Mrs. Westwood, that it was not so much Austin's unruly tongue as his wandering eye which 131

had prompted Carlos to build the house for him at the camp. However, Fenella let it pass. "But you went on seeing Maria." "I couldn't avoid it. Machada is small and the circle I moved in was only a tiny part of it. I never arranged to meet her but invariably I did, at the Saturday sundowner parties. Her parents got wise again and she was only allowed to attend an occasional week-day function. Maria obviated that by bribing the chauffeur to bring her to the camp while her mother was resting. If I hadn't got wind up before, I had it then. It was a filthy trick to abuse your kindness, but lunching here satisfied Maria and saved me the nightmarish sweat of wondering whether she and Carlos might clash, and lose me my job. I don't blame you for being annoyed, Fenella, but I'm glad you haven't brought your father into it." "You speak as if Maria made all the advances," she remarked. "She's not as unprincipled as you make out." His reply was less placating. "I thought you'd take my side of it for granted. If I hadn't been in love with her the deception would never have begun." Fenella felt a treacherous yet inexplicable knife-thrust. "Are you still in love with her?" "Yes, but not in a way you'd understand, my angel." He moved round to squash out his cigarette in the ashtray on the arm of the chair. "She wants me to play the romantic hero, to run away with her and live with her happily ever after. I can imagine nothing more calculated to destroy one's better self than to be tied for life to a woman torn by remorse—and that would be Maria after a year or two. The deuce of it is, you can't make her see it that way." "You could try." He met her glance. "Are you suggesting that I should make a rendezvous with her? I'm afraid I'm not built to stand that sort of scene." "But you owe it to her. Besides," she hated having to play this card, but Austin deserved it, "if Maria sticks to her conviction that you're too devoted to let her down, she's quite capable of blurting out everything to her family and flying to the camp with her belongings." Austin paled. "She wouldn't do that!" 132

In a stride he crossed to the teak wine cabinet and, without asking, poured two fingers of whisky and tossed it down. His manner, as he lit a second cigarette, had lost the usual veneer of nonchalance. "Will you try to make her see differently, Fenella?" She shook her head. "It wouldn't do any good." "I'll write her a note, then, .and you'll see that she gets it? I'll plead with her to behave ordinarily till I've had a chance to weigh things up. I'll make her realise the seriousness of it. She must give me another week." Fenella had to agree. The last couple of hours had taxed her endurance, and she was empty of everything save a desire for peace. She gave Austin notepaper and envelope and left him to his task. Later, he handed her the sealed letter, and with scarcely another word he departed. Fenella went out to the hammock and, in a surprisingly short time, fell asleep. When Antonio brought the tea she told him to take the letter to the Senhorita de Cardena, to give it to her personally, and not to a servant. Within an hour she learned that the errand had been accomplished, by bicycle. Maria had the letter which would keep her, if not happy, at least from being too miserable for a further week. On Monday morning Fenella greeted the dawn with a tremulous smile. She got out of bed, crossed to the window and unlatched the frame of the mosquito wire to let in more of the fragrant air. A slight dew glistened in the grass, first omen of the humid weather to come. The cannas looked stiff and velvety, the sky translucently tinged with pink. And, as was usual so early in the morning, magnolias and palms were unmoving and incredibly lovely. The houseboys were stirring; Fenella heard the distant "Saku bona" from one native to another. Antonio always said "Good morning" very correctly with a deferential bow. He was half-Portuguese and had, of course, been trained in the Pereira kitchens. Fenella folded her arms and leaned upon the tiled windowsill—pretty pink and white tiles with a suggestion of mosaic about the pattern. Her self-imposed penance was over. To-day at a quarter to ten the car would come from the Quinta. There had been no definite arrangement, but they were certain to expect her. A whole week had passed 133

since she had last seen Carlos, a week of intolerably long minutes and eternal hours. At last she could permit her thoughts to revel. For Carlos would be there from noon onwards; that was his habit on Mondays. She stayed at the window, encompassed by the painful delight which is part of love, occupied only with Carlos, the light and warmth of his presence; she had had enough of the icy darkness of his absence. About Antonie she thought not at all, nor did she step down out of her spurious paradise to remember the coldness with which Carlos had said good-bye last Monday, after the visit to the lace-maker. Her content did not begin to cloud till she was dressing in the freshly laundered rust-coloured linen. After breakfast she set the native wash-woman to work. Then there was the list of supplies to be made up, so that the boy could do his shopping before it was too hot, and a quick walk over to the mission with the stencils she had cut on Saturday evening for the little ones. A quarter to ten arrived; ten o'clock. Fenella studiously kept her eyes from her watch and fabricated small duties which she performed with precision. Ten-thirty; ten-fortyfive. Well . . . that seemed to be that. She was not required at the Quinta to-day; nor, perhaps, on any day. With head held high and resolute step, she made her way again to the mission. The children were' inside, reciting arithmetic tables. Over their heads Mrs. Westwood gave Fenella a preoccupied smile, and went on tapping out the tables with one finger upon the book. Fenella turned back into the mission veranda. Her throat hurt and her knees were uncertain. She would go into the clinic and insist on relieving Nurse Silva for an hour. There was nothing so apt to give one's melancholy its true proportions as tending the sick, particularly if those sick happened to be poor and black of skin. But on her way to the clinic door she encountered her father. "So you didn't go to the Quinta," he said. "That's rather fortunate, because I want someone to go into town right away. We're short of vaccine, and I'm needing it all the time. I'll give you the official chit to take to the Health department and they'll let you have a supply. They won't give it to a native. You can go in the mission jeep." 134

To be entrusted with a job of some importance was balm. Fenella pocketed the chit and took her place in the jeep. Very conscious of his passenger, the driver bumped down the track and drove along the smooth roads into the town with ridiculous care. With a flourish he came to rest in front of the Hotel da cidade, and leapt out to open the jeep's door. Among the many large cool offices which looked out over palms and flowering shrubs, Fenella located that of the Health department. Her chit was received with respect, though she gained the impression that her Portuguese was still on the scanty side. Would the senhora kindly sit down for ten minutes, or send in a boy to wait for the parcel? Fenella decided to instruct the driver to do the waiting while she strolled in the grounds. Boys were lazily working on the lawns and flower-beds; a mower whirred and hoses hissed. On the long drive a number of cars were parked; the jeep was on their tail. And . . . yes! There was the big sapphire-blue saloon which Carlos mostly drove himself. He was probably attending a meeting of the town council. As if in answer to her swift, intense longing, he came out on to the semi-circular steps and descended them. He saw her and, without hesitation, altered his course and covered the few yards which divided them. He was hatless again, in the hot, vital sunshine. "Good morning, senhorita." His politeness had an edge of polished steel. "I hope you are well?" "Yes, thank you, senhor." "You are on business for your father?" "Yes. He needs vaccine." "Can I help you to obtain it, perhaps, more quickly?" "They're packing it now. The driver is inside, waiting." "I see. You have come in the jeep." He paused, impersonal, without a vestige of expression. "If you are sure that I can be of no assistance, please pardon me if I go now. I am taking Antonie and her aunt to our English friends in Alimane. There is a celebration of some kind to which we are invited. Adeus, senhorita." He bowed and was gone. The blue care swerved out of the drive and into the traffic on the Avenida. 135

With care, Fenella slipped back into the jeep and pulled shut the door. She sat very still. Every nerve in her body seemed to stab. This was worse than not seeing Carlos at all . . . much worse. Because now she knew for certain that as far as he was concerned she was again the "good doctor's" daughter and not the friend of Antonie and himself. He had placed the most obvious construction on her anxiety to call at the camp last Monday, and had probably concluded, during the days which followed, that one so close to the superintendent he despised had no place at the Quinta Agostinhos. His arrogance and displeasure were turned upon her in full measure, and somehow she must school herself to bear them. Soon the jeep was again set in motion to wind its way towards the mission. Fenella sat stonily staring through at the shops, her nails picking abstractedly, yet with some violence, at the string which bound her father's parcel. The familiar ruts of the mission track rocked her; the unnecessary apologies of the driver went unheard. Outside the mission stood a black coupe, a smart little affair of gleaming exterior, under a coating of red dust, and with excellent grey leather upholstery. Fenella went round it to the veranda steps, mounted them, and stopped dead. She had the queer sensation of this being an important moment in her life. The person who stood before her was a woman in her middle years, neatly suited in white. She had a pointed, bird-like face and a youthful smile. To Fenella, in that instant, she was the essence of stringent sanity. "Miss Brean," she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you've come!"

136

CHAPTER ELEVEN AS was to be expected of a woman of means and strong character, Miss Brean had a way with her. Actually, her strength lay more in her ability to understand others than in her power to sway or control them. She had travelled almost everywhere and been drawn into the varied lives of many people. It would never have occurred to her to withhold sage advice and practical help; the incidents which made such qualities necessary were a valuable ingredient to her happiness. For four months she had been entertained in Lourenco Marques, had wallowed in the rich public gardens, the graceful buildings, the amazingly sophisticated night life. She had not meant to stay there so long but, Portuguese hospitality being what it it, the days had winged away, till at last she had called a halt and set about packing her trunk and grips. She really must spend some time in Machada before the tropical summer rains drove her north again. So she had invested in the coupe, which comfortably held the whole of her travelling gear, and set out over rough roads through a wilderness of timber and jungle growth for the town of Machada. Last night she had slept at a farmhouse, and she had covered the last one hundred and fifty miles at a leisurely speed this morning. All this and much more she told Fenella during the course of the afternoon. "Although we knew one another for only a few days on the boat, I remembered you quite often while I was in Lourenco Marques. You were so thrilled with the little you had seen of Africa, so blissful at the prospect of a long holiday with your father in this place, that I wondered whether realisation had lived up to expectation, Letters are so inadequate, aren't they?" "I did try to make mine informative, though I think you have to live in Machada to get the spirit of the place. How long can you stay?" 137

"A week, a month, or even more. It depends to a large extent on you." Miss Brean smiled. "I don't see why you and I shouldn't travel together." "That would be grand." Fenella sounded as if she meant it. "We'll talk about it later. Will you mind having to squash in with us?" "Not a bit. Even if Machada owned an hotel I wouldn't want to patronise it. I'm not a tourist. I'm an enlightened traveller. Tell me about some of the people here; many of them are well known down the coast. Have you met the descendant of the dukes ?" It took Fenella a moment to grasp her meaning. "Senhor Pereira? Yes, I've met him." "And by your tone you don't care for him," said Miss Bean promptly. "Yet he's thought much of all over the Province, you know. The consul whose guest I was in Lourenco Marques was very anxious to give me a letter of introduction to him, but I refused to have it. Introductions place one in the category of sight-seers, and though I would be enchanted to see the Castelo Agostinhos. . . ." "The Quinta," interjected Fenella. "When it suits him he's very democratic." "I see." Miss Brean laughed. "You've got it in for him, haven't you? I suppose he's lordly—people belonging to those old families are inclined to be that way. I'd like to make his acquaintance." "If you remain here a month you probably will." Miss Brean lightly passed on to other topics. Before coming to Mozambique she hadn't realised it was such an exotic country, so enthralling in its variety of wild scenery, so continental in its cities, so Portuguese in its way of living and its customs. Perhaps it was being English which made one so much less conscious of the native than in other parts of Africa; one was too busy being conscious of the Portuguese. And weren't some of them good-looking! Her speech was lively and amusing; she left Fenella no time to brood. While the weather was rainless there was no difficulty in accommodating a third at the house. In the dry season many people slept on verandas and used a bedroom only for dressing. Fenella took to the veranda almost happily; 138

on sleepless nights one could always watch the stars, and it was good to awaken with the freshness of dawn all about one. In the thoroughly acclimatised way she had, Miss Brean roamed round the town and conversed with the inhabitants in a marvellous Portuguese pidgin which bad nothing in common with that in use in the district yet got results. She wandered into the church and unhesitatingly named the architect, and the artist responsible for the interior paintings. She was an honoured guest at sherry parties and collected an astonishing number of invitations to lunch and dinner; so much so that her presence in the doctor's house was never given time to become a burden. Her instant popularity had its roots in her splendid memory and a valuable gift for compliment. Presented to Senhor Lopes, she exclaimed. "I have heard of you before, senhor, from your excellent son in the bank at Lourenco Marques. You have a fine son who is proud of his parents!" And to the old Senhora da Sousa, "So it is you who have the most exquisite collection of goblets in all Mozambique. How I should love to see them." With enviable ease she glided in and out of those old houses near the church, and back at the mission she talked of the families and their ramifications as if Machada were home. No wonder she extracted so much fun from travelling. "In four days I've met practically every individual in the town social register and a great many who aren't," she said. "But I shan't be satisfied till Senhor Pereira has clicked his heels and kissed my hand." "He doesn't click heels," Fenella remarked, "and he's conservative with his kisses. He has Scottish blood." "A strange mixture, but it should be an exciting one. I gather that all the women in Machada and Alimane are in love with him." "They were, before his cousin came." "I've heard about her, too . . . and that you and she have been friends ever since she arrived." Miss Brean's tone was meticulously casual as she tacked on, "We might slip over and see her, don't you think?" 139

An instant's pause, before Fenella replied, "One doesn t `slip over' to the Quinta without being asked." Miss Brean did not pursue the matter. Some way or another she invariably got what she wanted. Early on Saturday morning she went into the clinic with Dr. Harcourt and Fenella. She was interested in the doctor's experiments in nutritional feeding and wished to know which were the most common diseases, and why. She patted little black woolly heads and smiled at the native men and women who waited their turn outside the clinic door. The nurses, too, came in for a word of cheer. "Your father is a clever man," she said to Fenella as they walked along the veranda, "and he has a tremendous sense of duty. You'll hate to leave him." "I shall," Fenella agreed soberly. "I'm not able to help him nearly as much as I would like, but he's all I have. He's keen for me to go home and marry." "To go home—for that reason? But there are hundreds of eligible young men in Africa. . . ." Miss Brean broke off. They had turned an angle of the building and come rather disconcertingly face to face with a tall, sinisterly handsome man and a pale and beautiful young woman who was dressed most strikingly in a slim-fitting emerald silk suit. Miss Brean was not, of course, looking at Fenella, but she caught the stifled gasp. The man bowed. "Good morning, Fenella." With an effort, Fenella said, "Good morning, senhor . . . and Antonie." She turned to Miss Brean. "Senhora Antonie de Bordone and the Senhor de Castilho Pereira . . . Miss Brean." Again Carlos bowed, though lower, and in the direction of the older woman. "I am charmed to meet you, Miss Brean. We shall, perhaps, have a few minutes together while these two young ladies view the mission. Fenella," his head inclined suavely towards her, "I am displeased that Antonie has not yet seen the good work performed by Mr. and Mrs. Westwood and your father. The care of the less fortunate is everybody's business. Will you take her inside?" "Why have you not been to the Quinta for two weeks?" demanded Antonie. "I tell Carlos he has made you angry 140

r that day when he dragged you so quickly away from Senhor Frankland, but still he refused to send the car." "You are causing embarrassment, little cousin," Carlos said evenly. "Miss Brean and I will sit here and wait for you. It is not inconvenient, Fenella?" "No, Carlos. This way, Antonie." Miss Brean sank into the chair which Carlos placed for her and, without flicking an eyelash, she accepted one of the long, thick cigarettes from his gold case and twisted it about admiringly in her fingers. Her hearing had not missed a syllable nor an inflection; and she had not needed particularly good eyesight to notice the colour drain from Fenella's cheeks and the hands tighten at the girl's sides. That "Carlos" stuck out a mile; Fenella hadn't meant to utter it at all. And who was Frankland? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Miss Brean hadn't time to set her memory to work on it. She would do so later. Carlos leant over her with his lighter. "I have heard about you, Miss Brean—not only from friends in the town but also in a letter from your late host in Lourenco Marques, with whom I happen to be acquainted. Your intrepid journey by road roused consternation and anxiety there. I trust you have sent his wife a telegram?" "Oh, yes, senhor, on the day I arrived in Machada." She inhaled with some enjoyment. "I'm accustomed to such journeys and one cannot take the wrong road when there is only one road to take." "It was not wise, however, particularly for a woman. A flat tyre, or a dry radiator with no river nearby . . ." an expressive shrug concluded the sentence. "One does not find service stations in the jungle." He smiled and the note of censure left his voice. "I understand that we are not to treat you as a tourist. You will not haunt our street corners with binoculars and camera." "I don't carry binoculars and camera—grew out of them years ago. That's the main difference between me and other travellers, because I do still collect guide books and curios. As to your street corners, I have haunted them already and found them rewarding. I'm hoping one day to see the Castelo Agostinhos at closer quarters." 141

"The Quinta," he said, and paused. "Why are you smiling like that?" "Pardon, senhor. I made the same error when talking to Fenella the other day and she corrected me in the same tone, as if it were sacrilege to call the Quinta by any other name. It must be infectious." He used the rough stone ash-tray which stood between them on the veranda wall. "You have known Miss Harcourt a long time, Miss Brean?" "No. We sailed down from Mombasa together four months ago. I'd been with relatives in Kenya and grown tired of them. Fenella was so refreshingly different from the other passengers, who were inveterate tourists, that when we parted I promised to come here on my way home." She, also, got rid of ash from her cigarette. "Is it true, senhor, that a galleon lies submerged near the shore of Alimane?" Miss Brean, who seldom acted or spoke impulsively, could not afterwards have explained her own swift abandonment of the subject of Fenella. Her chief emotions at the time had been of loyalty to the girl and reluctance to discuss her, in however distant a manner, with Carlos Pereira. She listened to his clipped, foreign accents as he gave details of the ships which had been lost during voyages in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; a Pereira had sunk with one of them off the coast of India. She watched his face and those long-fingered, masterful hands . . . and she felt infinitely sorry for Fenella. About half an hour after they had entered the mission the two girls emerged. Antonie was smiling and Fenella, too, had a smile, though it was less spontaneous and more fixed than the other's. Carlos rose at once. "You have now seen our mission, Antonie, and I trust you have been observant. It is a tribute to modern pioneering, e nao?" The grey glance roved Fenella's features. "You find the midday heat somewhat trying, senhorita?" "No, senhor." "It seems to me you have lost colour." Fenella was silent. She sat in the vacant chair between Miss Brean and Antonie, while Carlos remained standing in a negligent posture against a pillar. 142

"I have been telling Fenella that we are to have a ball next week," said Antonie. "She says she will not come." "I said cannot," Fenella inserted quickly. "So?" The monosyllable from Carlos was longdrawn and thoughtful. "That is unfortunate. Perhaps this standing engagement for Sunday lunch has changed itself to Friday night. It is so, Fenella?" "It is not senhor," came the stubborn response. "In that case," he said coolly, "we may change your mind. I hope Miss Brean will accept our invitation?" "With great pleasure, senhor." "That is good. But I should be glad if you would come before then, so that I may show you my Goncalves, and a number of very fine plaques which were executed by one of my family many years ago; they are unique. I will send a car for you both on Monday morning." He looked with mocking enquiry at Fenella. "That will suit you?"' "I think so," she said. "Very well. We will all meet again on Monday " He straightened. "Come, Antonie. Have you forgotten that we are yachting this week-end?" The parting was friendly. Miss Brean's absorbed gaze followed the two figures. She saw Carlos put Antonie into the front seat of the blue car and go round to the driver's seat. She hoped, some time, to get a close-up of the ducal shield. As the saloon sped down the track she turned to Fenella, but whatever she had been about to observe died unspoken. Instead she said softly, and a little pensively: "If I were you I'd go to the ball. You may never have the chance of such an experience again." "I've only ordinary evening frocks. Antonie's gowns are dazzling." Fenella hesitated and added wryly, "Carlos knew I wouldn't go. He delights in taunting me." Miss Brean raised well-shaped eyebrows. Taunting indicated a certain intimacy, yet one did not associate a facile intimacy with Carlos Pereira. He was too aloof and inscrutable, too conscious of his position. The cousin appeared to possess everything a man of his kind could desire in a wife: breeding, fine looks and charm. But there was something about her which con143

siderably antagonised Miss Brean. She would have to see more of the girl before deciding what it was. "I believe the senhor wants you to attend the ball," she said. "He may be using the ruthless approach as a method of persuading you." "He knows me better than that," said Fenella. A statement which Miss Brean found enlightening. She sat musing for a while, and Fenella was equally quiet. Activity inside the mission petered out, as it always did about noon on Saturday, and presently the two got up and sauntered back to the house. They were not alone again till Fenella got' into her pyjamas that night. They had spent the afternoon driving about the plantations with the doctor in Miss Brean's car—the doctor had taken the wheel and congratulated Miss Brean on her common sense and good taste in the choice of a hardy automobile—and later had attended a private film show in the home of the Seixas family, which was followed by nightcaps and an exchange of impressions in the lounge. Fenella, getting into the dressing-gown and tieing the girdle, was somewhat startled by Miss Brean's entry and a sudden, irrelevant query: "The Senhor Frankland that girl mentioned—is it Austin Frankland?" "Why, yes. Do you know him?" "Only be reputation—a rather muddy one. He may not even be the same man, though I don't suppose there are many Austin Franklands distributed over the face of Africa. Did he once farm in Kenya?" "Yes, he had a short spell at it. The farm failed and he came south." "So the farm failed?" Miss Brean surveyed the slight young figure before her and leaned back in a wicker chair "The senhor's cousin implied some sort of a link between you and Frankland." "He's English and so are we. He comes here at the week-end for a meal " "Is he the standing engagement for Sunday lunch?" asked Miss Brean shrewdly. Fenella nodded. "He'll be here to-morrow." 144

"What is it about Frankland that irritates the senhor?" Apparently Miss Brean had determined not to be put off by reticence. Fenella lowered herself to the foot of the bed and briefly explained Austin's position on the plantation and in the town. "It's a point of honour with Carlos that he won't dismiss Austin, or he would have done so long ago." A little bitterly she added, "It would have saved a tremendous amount of heartache if he had." "Saved whom?" came the instant demand. Fenella said offhandedly. "There's a Portuguese girl who's hopelessly in love with Austin—you may meet her to-morrow, too. I can't tell you any more because I've given my word, but you'd have guessed that much." She stood up and moved towards the door. "Muddles usually straighten out, though honestly I don't see how this one can." They said good night and Fenella went out, but Miss Brean did not at once set about preparing for bed. Now that she had given herself time, she recalled perfectly the circumstances in which she had first heard of Austin Frankland. There was nothing diabolical about the man; he was merely well-favoured in looks and less provided for in the way of character. Fenella, poor child, was in the thick of a nasty mess, quite how nasty Miss Brean was not yet in a position to calculate. But when at last she bent to unstrap her very neat brown cut-away shoes and dip her toes into mules, her small bright face had an almost benign expression. If Austin Frankland was a subsidiary cause of Fenella's unhappiness . . . well, such men were not impossible to handle—not to a woman of Miss Brean's experience. Austin came first that Sunday, and Fenella detected at once that for him Miss Brean was a welcome addition to the luncheon gathering. Maria, who was late, showed less pleasure in what appeared a crowded dining-room. Her eyes questioned Austin and were reassured with a smile, and soon she was radiant again and eating her usual prodigious helping of dressed salad with several slices of cold meats. 145

The meal ended and Dr. Harcourt excused himself The other four relaxed in the lounge; Maria was quiet and watchful, Fenella conventional, and Austin behaved with his customary ease. Miss Brean nudged into her chair with an air of pure enjoyment. She put on a cigarette and contemplated Maria through a thin veil of smoke. "I love your country, senhorita—its heavenly warmth and brightness and intoxicating perfumes. From the bottom of my heart I envy you who have roots in its rich soil." "There are other agreeable countries, senhora," said Maria stiffly. "Quite true, but they are not all Portuguese. Mozambique is impregnated with your nationality and your delightful mode of existence." Maria's face darkened. "Mozambique is a savage, hot country. The towns are tiny, the roads are bad, and the land is peopled with Africans." "Much of that can be said about the rest of Africa," Miss Brean commented reasonably. "Nyasaland, for instance, Uganda and Kenya." "The farms in Kenya," recited Maria, "are on the mountain side. One has a log fire at night; one does not perspire within mosquito screens." Miss Brean quelled a smile. "Who has been talking to you about Kenya?" Fenella glanced hastily from one to the other. Then she looked over at Austin, who was interestedly inspecting the tip of his cigarette. He was taking rather well this invasion of his private dealings with Maria. "Austin has described to me his farm on the slopes above Nairobi where he had cattle and grew some coffee," the girl was saying. "The climate was drier than this and there was much with which to occupy oneself in the city—hotels, big shops and cinemas. A woman there is not constantly at the mercy of her parents." "More's the pity in some cases," Miss Brean submitted, though without emphasis. Her attention now switched to Austin. "I have several friends in Nairobi, among them the Wrights . . . and the Bainbridges." Slowly, Austin uncrossed his legs. He moistened his lips and made a complication of lighting a fresh cigarette. 146

His first match snapped in two and he struck a second. "I've heard of them," he said. "I thought you might have. Everyone knows everyone else in such places. Laura Bainbridge was an impressionable little thing," she went on, as if reminiscing. "Her only real trouble was in marrying too young. She made an ass of herself with some good-looking bounder and for a time she was separated from her husband. However, he's a sound man, and now they're together again, with Laura a wiser and more sober woman." She shook her head as if exasperated. "Infatuation in either sex always irritates me profoundly; I wouldn't have the least scruple in exposing an affair of that sort, if it were likely to do any good." Maria was the only one who had little notion of what Miss Brean was getting at. She sat looking perplexed and rather bored, obviously waiting for Fenella and Miss Brean to leave her with Austin. Austin himself squashed out the new cigarette and assumed an uneasy smile. He did not avoid Miss Brean's eyes; in fact he met them with a peculiar slant in his own. Perhaps he was tacitly saying, "You win." That was how it struck Fenella. The moment Miss Brean had slipped in a reference to. Kenya, Fenella's nerves had begun to tingle. Though she had no idea what was in the woman's mind, she had divined instinctively that a delicate attack was being launched at Austin. The coup de grace had happened smoothly and with breathless speed. A cautious relief lightened her heart. Could this mean the lifting of the anxiety which had haunted her for the past fortnight? Would Austin realise that if he stayed on the Machada estate it would have to be as Maria's husband? For he could be in no doubt that Miss Brean would be as strict as her word. Indecision on his part would bring about the exposure of an incident in his past which undoubtedly he would prefer to forget. Conversationally, Miss Brean said, "Four can squeeze into the coupe. Shall we go for a short drive?" Maria's response was polite but firm. "Thank you, but no, senhora. I have to remain here till our car arrives to take me home." 147

"I'll stay with Maria," Austin said, without enthusiasm. "Just us, then, Fenella." Miss Brean stood up smartly and brushed ash from her beige linen skirt. "You two won't feel neglected, will you?" Fenella allowed herself to be borne along on the tide of the little woman's zeal. She smiled lightly at Austin and Maria and followed Miss Brean to where the coupe was parked in the shade of a wide flamboyant. The subtle silence lasted till they had emerged from the mission track and reached the tarred road. Miss Brean ended it with a laugh. "Poor Austin Frankland. His sort always avoid devastating decisions—but he's forced to make one now. If his job on the plantation is so good, I suppose he'll marry the girl rather than give it up. There's a chance that those stern parents of hers may induce him to settle down and become a passably successful husband. The girl is gullible; he never had the least intention of taking her to Kenya." Miss Brean's intervention had helped to clear the air, but there was an important complication of which she was ignorant: Maria's fiance. "Supposing," Fenella said carefully, "that Austin will not marry Maria. He may simply break off their relationship, and if he does—what about her?" "My guess is that she'll go into a decline—for about a week. After that she'll blithely marry any man her father selects and develop into a normal housewife and mother. She's not the long-suffering sort." Which was a comforting thought, particularly as Miss Brean had come near the truth in setting out her conclusion. The car sped on between the coconut plantations towards Alimane. Fenella did not question distance or direction. For to-day, Miss Brean was ably in command. They walked along the white promenade and watched the sails on the lagoon and the few bathers spread out along the creamy lip of the sea. The sky deepened and the white sea birds were homing to the rocks, their cries faint on the breeze. Presently, they found a wine table beneath a palm. Daylight bronzed, and they witnessed the fleeting miracle which could never be so breath-taking anywhere else, of fast-encroaching night spangled with gold dust. 148

"When I told Maria that I envied her having roots in this country I wasn't romancing," said Miss Brean with a luxurious sigh and a lazy gesture. "There's a lot in favour of living in a more temperate climate, but this land certainly has something the others haven't got." Carlos, for instance, murmured Fenella's treacherous heart. It was nearly seven when they returned to the mission. After expressing a mild amazement that they should have gone off to Alimane without first determining whether he would care to accompany them, Dr. Harcourt answered Fenella's enquiry. Only Austin had been in the lounge when he had come from his rest. The fellow had indicated a note he had left for Fenella on the writing-desk and cleared off before he could be offered tea or a sundowner. Peculiar behaviour, but maybe the man had been huffed at their going off without him. Fenella and Miss Brean exchanged glances. Fenella pocketed the note and went away to wash. Austin had written only three lines: "I shall not be along next week, nor will Maria. Don't believe all Miss Brean tells you. I was never as bad as that."

No explanation of how things had been left between himself and Maria, but Fenella had hardly expected one. That he had undertaken not to use the house for further meetings took a weight from her spirit, and she felt a surge of thankfulness for Miss Brean. Together, that night, they agreed to do nothing unless Maria begged for further assistance. Fenella was certain, though, that the girl would hesitate to visit the mission while Miss Brean was about. She slipped into her bed on the veranda and drew up the blanket. With arms pillowed under her head she lay staring at the veranda ceiling of thin, white-painted boarding, but her thoughts did not drift over the events of the day. Those had. receded into insignificance before the acid-sweet expectancy of to-morrow, when she would see Carlos. 149

The car swept up to the mission soon after nine next morning. Both women were ready, Miss Brean trim in pale-blue linen and Fenella in flowered silk. Fenella was making tremendous use of all the self-control at her command. Desperately though she longed for the nearness of Carlos, she remembered to remind herself frequently that to-day she was invited merely as a companion to Miss Brean. The air, as the car followed the road which skirted the town, was wine-warm and fragrant. Miss Brean sat smiling appreciatively. She commented on the trees and the fact that the car had dipped and was climbing again. She sank into the rich upholstery like a nice, voluptuous cat. When they reached the great wrought-iron gates of the Quinta, she peered up at the cupolas and nodded pleasantly to the magenta-clad porter. Upon the elaborate face of the Quinta itself her gaze rested with satisfaction and eagerness. Her lack of surprise at the palatial entrance with its surround of Moorish tiles and flanking azulejos drew a remark from Fenella. "Having met the Senhor Pereira, I expected something like this," Miss Brean said. "It's splendidly feudal, of course, but so is he. This place is his only possible background. Look! Here he comes." The car curved over the mosaic courtyard and by the time it stopped Carlos was there to help them out. "Ah, Miss Brean. I was afraid I had sent the car too soon. Even Antonie has not yet shown herself this morning, though our sweet Tia is already at her sewing." His smile passed on. "I hope you are rested, Fenella?" Unsure what lay behind the question, Fenella replied with a guarded, "Yes, thank you, senhor." "Good." He mounted the steps between them and urbanely guided them round the terrace to where Tia Supervia sat working at an embroidery frame. The woman acknowledged the introduction with her gentle smile, and invitingly patted the arm of the chair beside her. "Please to make yourself at ease, Miss Brean. You will find I speak English not so very good, but I compre150

hend all that is said. And how are you, Fenella? It is many days since you come to paint and swim with Antonie." Tia Supervia raised her thin cheek and, as on one or two previous occasions, Fenella bent and kissed it. 'This morning the act of courtesy seemed somehow farcical. Carlos said, "I have a small business to conduct with Fenella. You will pardon us?" "With me?" she asked. "Yes, my child, with you. We will dispose of it early, and for the rest of the day we will forget it. Come with me to the library." Wordless, she walked at his side, along the terrace and into the wide, flower-decked reception hall of the Quinta, Carlos opened a tall door to the right and Fenella entered a room into which she had so far only peeped, when Carlos was out. Bookshelves, in a dark carved wood, lined the two long walls to right and left. At the end, near the window, stood a massive desk of the same rich wood, the drawer handles of ornate brass. The few papers on the desk were weighted by a slender buck which had been delicately fashioned from ivory and fitted into a square of heavy, polished quartz. The seats and back panels of the two capacious chairs were covered in a green and gold tapestry which matched the floor-length curtains. Nothing renaissance about this room. It had been refurnished not so long ago to suit the studious moods of a modern man. Carlos had come in and closed the door, but he did not at once advance to where she had paused, beside the desk. Almost abstractedly, he took a cigarette from his case and tapped it, before slipping it between his lips. As though preoccupied, he moved on, past Fenella and round to the back of the desk. His voice came cold and inflexible. "I have a most unpleasant duty to perform, Fenella. Perhaps you had better sit down." Her breathing had become painfully irregular and a reasonless constriction had control of her throat. The utter change in him from the charm and suavity of a few minutes ago had shattered most of her self-possession. She could only grope her way to the nearest chair, close her fingers tight over the carved wooden arms, and wait. 151

CHAPTER TWELVE CARLOS did not hasten to elucidate. He remained backing the window, unmoving except for the fingers which sensitively explored the pointed horns of the ivory buck. Fenella heard the poignant trill of a morning bird and, from away in the trees, the thin sweetness of his mate's reply; the dry rustle of palms and the distant yelp of a dog. Would Carlos never speak! "Perhaps my task will be more simple," he said at last, "if I first tell you that Frankland came to see me yesterday evening." Frankland. The paralysis passed off and Fenella's brain resumed its functioning. An hour or two after going from the doctor's house, Austin had come here, to Carlos. For what? To confess his dilemma over Maria de Cardena and throw himself on the senhor's mercy? No. Austin lacked stamina but he owned a shade too much pride to behave like that. In some way he had implicated Fenella. . . . "You were not aware," Carlos stated inexorably, "that this cachorrinho of yours has precipitately concluded that the climate of Mozambique is too warm for his health?" Fenella did not query the epithet. She well knew that cachorrinho meant "puppy." "Is he leaving?" "Yes, he is leaving. In fact, it would not amaze me to hear that he has already left." "You have allowed him to go without notice?" "I have not only allowed him, senhorita—I have ordered him to go." "Then, why . . ." "Permit me to explain." Carlos twisted and rested back on the edge of the desk. Now, his glance was less direct, but his speech lost none of its terseness. "Under his first year's contract with me Frankland was entitled to six weeks' holiday, which he desired to save till later. The contract was not renewed but the terms of it naturally continued to apply. In about seven weeks from now Frankland would have been due to take the accumulation of leave—three months. Last night he asked to have his 152

holiday right away, because the climate was . . . getting him down." "Oh." So Austin had temporarily soothed Maria and decided to rat till she was safely married. From his point of view a fool-proof solution. He had lost little time between coming to a decision and acting upon it. Unevenly, Fenella added, "Perhaps he does need a break." "I did not think you would be so obtuse, senhorita," said Carlos coolly. "Frankland is more jaded by the climate than I am. He is merely trying to escape the consequences of being a handsome adventurer." This was so close to fact that Fenella felt her nerves tightening up again. She played safe, and said nothing. "Frankland," said Carlos with an icy deliberation, "had no desire to lose his position on the plantation—but neither had he any intention of marrying the woman he has hypnotised. He concluded, without, I believe, much regret, that it would be convenient to be away from Mozambique till she has left Machada, for England." Fenella could tell, by the sudden cold dew at her temples, that she had whitened; but she was not conscious that her eyes mirrored pain. The hurt seemed to be right at the centre of her being, and for a minute she was dumb with its intensity. Carlos had his facts right but he had fastened on the wrong girl. His jaws were hard with a cold, merciless anger. Because she had ignored his warnings against Austin, he was being as cruel as he knew how. His enmity was tangible and vicious, and although he believed her deeply wounded, he was pitiless. How could she deal with him? She would have liked to stand up and confront him with his own lethal brand of sarcasm, but that was something beyond her abilities, even had she dared to divulge Maria's indiscretion. "You were sorry for me during your interview with Austin last night, senhor—more sorry than you are now." she said slowly. "You ordered him to get out at once, and to stay out, because you thought he was hurting me. I suppose it's useless to tell you that I was never in love with him?" 153

"I have mentioned before that you are a girl of courage," he said distantly. "You will recover from the affair more quickly if you can convince yourself that the man has never affected your emotions." Which meant that she would never convince him of it. Perhaps in time it might not seem so imperative that she should. Time was a valuable ally. With a show of resolution she got to her feet. "Your unpleasant duty is successfully performed, senhor," she said, inclining her head. "You won't object if I return to the mission?" "I will object most vigorously," he replied. "I stayed this morning particularly to have this word with you. It is finished, and I do not wish ever to refer to it again. After I have escorted Miss Brean through the morningroom and the gallery, I must attend a meeting in town, and after that there will be other business to attend to. Until late this afternoon you senhoras will have the Quinta to yourselves. So you will see that it is not necessary for you to return to the mission in order to avoid me." Fenella managed a shrug which might have been the inimical ghost of one of his. "I'll stay, senhor . . . for Miss Brean's sake." "Exactly, for Miss Brean's sake." He slipped a fresh cigarette from his case. "For the sake of this admirable Englishwoman you might also come to our party next Friday—which it pleases Antonie to call a ball. Perhaps you know that your father has already accepted?" Fenella had endured just a shade too much. The scene over Austin had been gruelling enough; mockery on top of it was not to be tolerated. "My father and Miss Brean will do as they please," she said rapidly, "but after to-day nothing will force me to enter the Quinta." "Because," he said, narrow-eyed, "it is here that one has pricked the pretty bubble of your romance, which turned out to be—not quite so pretty. About that I have nothing _more to add. Let us join the others." He opened the door and followed her out. As silently as they had entered the Quinta they walked side by side back to the terrace. 154

Antonie sprang up from the cushion which had been placed between the feet of Tia Supervia and Miss Brean. It was a graceful movement and full of colour, for she wore a gaily striped frock and scarlet sandals. She slid an arm into the crook of Carlos' white sleeve. Her black curls, loose and glossy, brushed his shoulder as she lifted to him her glowing eyes and reddened mouth. "Born dia, Carlos. I apologise that I was so late. Is it that you are with us all day?" "It is not," he said, smiling in a teasing manner "But you will have two guests for several hours, so your day will not be dull. And do not forget that to-night we have Senhor Daflos and his son to dinner." "That foolish boy!" Her laughter was high-pitched and clear. "Always when he comes I am afraid he will ponderously beg your permission to take me into the garden and make love to me—but I do not think he would know how to make love." "He is older than you are." "But too young, nevertheless, by several years. The young are so . . . estupido!" Tia Supervia looked at the girl fondly. "You have spoiled her, Carlos. You hear how she talks about this excellent young Senhor Daflos! She will measure other men by you, and always they disappoint." "I will start to be strict with her, Tia. Then she will look for a man who is very different!" Like an affectionate kitten, Antonie turned her cheek against him. "That is just a big joke, Carlos. You know it is. You could not be strict." "You are wrong. At this moment I command you to help Tia with her silks while Miss Brean and I take a stroll through the Quinta." Fenella had had to shut out the picture of domestic felicity. She stood at the terrace wall staring into the transparent green depths of the pool. Pink petals from the bordering beds floated on the surafce of the water and a sly breeze teased it into ripples. Among he blue stars of the passion-flowers which encrusted the stone balustrades new growth was appearing, and down on the lawns the garden boys were trimming the bombax and coral vine, while others sought over the cropped green 155

turf for the daring weed. Spring was beginning in this hemisphere, but it could not possibly bring greater glory to the countryside. When Antonie came beside her, Fenella realised that Carlos and Miss Brean had gone. "You look very well, Antonie," she said quietly. "Mozambique suits you." "That is because I am happy," the girl answered. "So happy that I could dance and sing. At first I was not in the least happy. I was sad and had no spirit. But Carlos has been so kind to me in every way that I have not been homesick, and my sadness is gone." "Fenella also has helped you, cara," Tia Supervia reminded her, from her seat at the back of them. "Yes—and you, Fenella," Antonie admitted perfunctorily. "We have done many things together. You remember the water-colour that we painted—the best one, of the fountain with the background of palms? I have posted it to my father, so that he may show it to my relatives. And the silk scarf we designed for Carlos . . . that is complete and he is delighted." She leaned towards the steps and plucked a sprig of plumbago; then cast a swift, recollective glance at Fenella. "Your Senhor Frankland," she said. "You have heard that he is leaving Alimane at noon to-day?" At noon. Carlos had omitted that information, and Fenella had a good notion why. It was tied up with his keenness to keep her here till late this afternoon. He had determined that she was not to see Austin again. She nodded. "He's not the sort to stick in one place for very long." "You do not mind?" "No. Why should I?" Antonie's head bent over the blue flowers in her hands. Her mouth drew in and her chin appeared to tremble uncontrollably for a second. "You English are so . . . stony. It is terrible to lose the man one loves." A chill crept up Fenella's spine. This was a new Antonie, a woman capable of heart-whole love. She wasn't just intriguing for a husband. She had come fully alive to love Carlos in a way at which even he could hardly guess. Or maybe he didn't have to guess. Mrs. 156

Westwood had said that engagements in Machada were often kept secret till the wedding day was fixed, and Carlos had more reason than most for such a procedure. No one was more adept than he at concealing his feelings. In a sickening flash it came to Fenella that the party next Friday—it was Antonie's first since coming to Machada —might have as its object the announcement of an engagement and marriage date. Now the idea presented itself, several things pointed that way. The gist of the conversation she had heard a few minutes ago might have been regarded as a superb jest by Carlos, Antonie and Tia Supervia. Tia had an air of quiet confidence. Antonie had confessed to being wonderfully happy and she had certainly acquired the vital sparkle of a woman who is needed. As for Carlos, where his heart was concerned he was impenetrable. Only the woman he loved would know the heights and depths of his passion, the breadth of his tenderness. "Come and rest with Tia," said Antonie. "One cannot be energetic in such a climate. I tell Carlos this sun is getting too hot." An hour of desultory conversation loitered by before Miss Brean reappeared, and Carlos waved from the car before speeding away down the drive. While the women drank their glasses of coffee and ate small nut cookies, Miss Brean talked industriously about the senhor's paintings and the baroque ornamentation which had made so deep an impression upon Fenella. Later, Fenella and Antonie bathed and dried off in the sun. After lunch the two Portuguese women retired as usual to their rooms, and the two English ones sat on the armchairs on the front terrace. Her studied geniality no longer necessary, Miss Brean drew an audible breath and shifted, so that she could see Fenella's contour against the whiteness of a marble pillar." "I shall be sorry if the senhor marries his cousin," she said bluntly. "She's by no means the right woman for a man of his kind." "Why do you say that?" "For one thing, she's spoiled and selfish, and for another she's too shallow She's always been the darling of a rich family and had everything she wanted. I wouldn't mind betting that she fell for Senhor Pereira when he went 157

to Lisbon a couple of years ago, and plagued her father till he agreed to write and get the senhor to invite her." "I think she'd make a perfect wife for Carlos." "I don't," said Miss Brean flatly. "She's the type who would entice him away to Portugal for the six hottest months of the year. To her, Machada is just a small town with too few 'shops and no theatre. The estate is only to be reckoned in escudos on the credit side of a bank book. There's no soul in the girl. You would never make her see that to create and maintain beauty in such a country is something worth-while. Her own beauty is her first concern." "That's rather a harsh judgment. She cares a great deal for Carlos." "Does she?" Miss Brean sounded sceptical. "I'll grant that she means to do her utmost to marry him—which isn't quite the same. The aunt is a first-rate propagandist . . . and incidentally a most likeable person, but I predict it will take more than propaganda and Antonie's clinging tactics to capture Carlos Pereira." Miss Brean was new to Machada, and her outlook correspondingly fresh and uninformed. Fenella had never told her of the trouble Carlos had taken in order that Antonie should not miss her family and friends; nor about his almost daily gifts to his cousin and the sharpness with which he had at first watched for signs of fatigue. Nor did it seem necessary to tell her now. "You haven't shown any curiosity about my nine am. session with Carlos," she observed. "Antonie said it was probably on your father's business, and I naturally assumed that she ought to know." "It was about Austin. Carlos has sacked him and he's departing to-day." Miss Brean went grave. "So Maria's been tumbled to. What will happen now?" "Maria's safe, so long as she keeps quiet. Austin saw Carlos last night and asked for his vacation to be put forward so that he could take it at once. I suppose Carlos gave him an outsize cheque and dismissed him." "But why? Isn't that an extraordinary thing to do if he had no inkling about Maria?" 158

"That's Carlos," said Fenella quickly. "It's pointless to question anything he does. Thank heaven it's all ended. You certainly came to Machada at the right time. Miss Brean. I'd never have got out of that tangle without you." She jumped up. "Let's take the shady path down to the chapel, shall we? The building has a lovely exterior." At five o'clock Fenella and Miss Brean drove away from the Quinta. They met the blue car on the road, and the chauffeur of the burgundy one in which they were travelling obeyed a signal to stop. Carlos came to their window. "You have had an interesting day, Miss Brean? I am glad. And you, Fenella?" "Most interesting, senhor." "But you wish you had not come," he said quite pleasantly. "That is a pity, but one day you will forgive me for being the bearer of ill tidings." He bowed and said good-bye, and the cars swiftly drew apart. Miss Brean sat back and showed phenomenal restraint by making no enquiries. Tuesday was uneventful. Fenella lent a hand at the mission and spent the evening over a book while her father and Miss Brean played bezique. On Wednesday morning came an air-mailed letter from Aunt Anna. Fenella had collected the doctor's mail from the post-boy, and immediately took out the envelope addressed to herself and slit it open. She read through the two sheets, then laughed a little, dropped the other mail on to a table and went over to tap on the surgery door. Dr. Harcourt called, "Who it is?" "Fenella. Can you spare a moment?" "Wait a bit, my dear. I have a patient." So Fenella read through the letter again and willed him to hurry. "Come in!" She pushed open the door and grabbed at the cuff of his white drill jacket. "Here's a letter from Aunt Anna. You'll never guess what it says." "I won't try. Read it out to me." "Listen to this—penned, mind you, in her worst writing. `How it came about is still hazy in my mind, but it seems that I have promised to marry Henry Gilson—in fact 159

to marry him as soon as you come home. He's rather a dear, and I'm sure you'll enjoy him as an uncle.'" Fenella raised her head. "She's going to be married. Isn't it grand!" Robert Harcourt was smiling. "It's certainly a surprise. I thought she was a confirmed woman bachelor, Isn't Gilson the Headmaster of the Grammar School?" "Yes, and he's a pet. He used to have tea with us every week." "What else does Anna say?" She handed him the letter. He scanned it with brows joined, and looked up. "So she's giving up the cottage and going to live at Gilson's villa; I suppose that's the most sensible thing to do. And they would like you to live with them." He sighed. "It's wrong of me to want to keep you here, but I don't see why Gilson should have my daughter." She averted herself from him and spoke without expression. "Miss Brean has a flat in London, and I may try to get a job somewhere near." "You like Miss Brean, don't you?" She nodded. "She has no illusions, and she keeps one's feet on the ground." "Why do you always call her Miss Brean? Hasn't she a first name?" Fenella smiled. "A very suitable one. Margaret." She took the letter back from him and folded it. "I must answer this soon, giving my sailing date. Miss Brean and I are going to England together." "You don't have to decide so fast," he said, "and I definitely wish to be consulted before you do anything final. Anna's waited long enough to get married; a few more days shouldn't tax her patience." Miss Brean could not be drawn into a conference about it yet because she was out to lunch in the old part of the town. Fenella read the letter for the fourth time before placing it in her own drawer of the desk. Aunt Anna and Mr. Gilson. Fenella could see them in the small chintzy lounge with leaded windows, her aunt absent-minded over some new design and the schoolmaster quiet and restful as he sipped his tea and ate a cake and enjoyed the peacefulness. Then one afternoon Mr. Gilson's courage had been equal to his needs. Probably to his own 160

everlasting astonishment he had proposed, and been accepted. It might never have come about if Fenella had not left her aunt companionless. Her trip to Mozambique had accomplished that much, she thought, a trifle bitterly. And, without bitterness, she reflected that she and her father had arrived at an under standing of each other which drew them very close. It would wrench them both to be parted again. After lunch, Miss Brean still being absent, Fenella accompanied her father to the native quarter which lay about five miles outside the town. On previous excursions into the reserve she had stayed in the car and alternately read a book and watched the natives, but to-day she got out and went with him to the but in which he examined those who were too old and feeble or too sick to make the trek to the clinic. The medical but was in a valley whose sides were covered with native dwellings in brick-red adobe and brown thatch. In the spaces between the huts an early crop of maize was being cultivated, and down here near the roadside roamed the cattle tended by piccanins in roomy shorts and nothing else. They loved to shout and brandish a thorn stick. The doctor and Carlos were the only white people who made regular visits to the reserve. Tourists were kept out more or less by order, and even the residents of the town were discouraged. The whole wide valley had been given over to the Tonga by the last Marquez, and Carlos saw to it that their rights were respected. Patients sat around on the grass, most of them clad only in a thin cotton blanket. Their chatter was cheerful, even when they displayed neglected sores to one another. The African in charge of the but had the doctor's folding table set up near the doorless opening, and neat rows of the commoner medicaments lined up on a canvas stool. No one minded being examined in front of everyone else. If anything, they were proud when their condition called for disrobing and prodding. Fenella wandered down to a giant euphorbia which reminded her of the grotesque growths one might expect to encounter in a nightmare. It pointed dozens of thick, uneven, sage-green fingers towards the hot, metallic sky. 161

She saw a brown snake with fine black marking glide away towards a castor bush thicket, and rescinded her decision to sit down. She felt too restless to be idle, anyway. Fenella told herself that she was becoming tired of Machada, that the incessant sunshine sapped one's energy and caused this sensation of depression and mental weariness, which was out of place in a girl of her age. She was surrounded by hundreds of brown people who would have died away from the sun; this was their country, not hers. Let them have it! "Meesis Harcourt!" She turned and saw the African medical assistant running her way, his white overall flapping, his arms waving. Her senses awoke with a jolt and straightway she moved towards him with a long, swift tread. "What is it?" He came up, panting. "The doctor tell me to call you. It is a girl, a little one, who has broken her leg and must have attention this minute." In spite of the heat, Fenella ran up the gradual slope to the hut, automatically leaping bushes and outcrops. The patients had forgotten their own ills; they were excitedly gossiping about the sudden and inexplicable anger of the doctor. On the floor of the hut, wrapped in a blanket, lay the moaning, quaking child, and on her knees beside her the mother was wailing and swaying, with a painted bone juju between her hands. Dr. Harcourt was hastily tumbling stethoscope and instruments back into his bag. "Oh, Fenella," he said with relief. "We'll have to take this little one to the clinic. She broke her leg three days ago and they've been trying the usual devil's brew to cure her. Sorry, my dear, but her most comfortable position will be across your lap, with the leg up and firmly supported. They've kept her fairly clean and the blanket is one of ours. Get into the car and I'll carry her out." The transfer was effected with speed and precison. After his initial outburst of fury and disgust at the criminal neglect of a suffering child, the doctor ignored the screeching mother completely. 162

As they followed the rocky road he glanced sideways at the small brown face and large terrified eyes, and spoke a few words softly, in pidgin. To Fenella he said, "I discovered this by accident, through one of the other patients. I sent a stretcher for the child and, of course, the mother came, too, and set up the loudest caterwauling she could manage." "Poor mite," she murmured, surprised that four-year-old should feel so light. "It's almost incredible that so many of them do survive. The lectures of Mrs. Westwood and Senhora Seixas seem to do no good at all." "I hate to say it, but the women are worse than the men—a lot worse. In a matter of months you can drill a boy into believing that white man's medicine is powerful stuff; when he's ill he'll come to the clinic and he'll faithfully do as he's told, even though he may also be attending a witch-doctor. I'm afraid the witch-doctor gets the credit for his cure, but that's inevitable till the natives grow away from superstition, and heaven knows when that will be. The men are very much under the influence of the women, and it isn't a particularly good influence from the medical point of view. The women are tough and not nearly so eager for education as the boys." The child lay still, her head resting upon Fenella's arm. Her eyes remained wide and staring, and Fenella wondered what was going on behind that smooth dark forehead. What a pity that she had no words with which to try and dispel the little girl's fears. Her father's pidgin was effective and might easily be learned. Regarding the child with a smile as reassuring as she could make it, Fenella let her mind dwell upon an impossibility: her father in a different mission and herself as his assistant. The two of them always together, battling against disase. It would be rewarding work, of a type which would leave small room for regrets and longings. The thought had to be suppressed. She knew that she could never exist on the same continent with Carlos. Perhaps it was weak to acknowledge it, but she had always faced her own drawbacks, and this shattering love for Carlos must be classed as chief among them. 163

The mission, when they arrived, was caught up in a minor turmoil. In tampering with the electric-lighting plant, one of the servants had badly burned his hands, and Nurse Silva was busy cleansing and dressing his extensive wounds. The only other nurse on duty was forbidden to leave the vicinity of the ward. "Looks as if you'll have to help, Fenella," Dr. Harcourt said. "Slip along and ask Mrs. Westwood to come to the clinic. Then relieve Nurse Silva, if you can, and send her to me. Not frightened, are you?" "Of course not." "Good girl. Don't forget to use antiseptic when you wash, and it's just as well to wear a mask. Nurse Silva will fit you up." Fenella sped along the mission veranda, and almost collided with Miss Brean. "I've been scouting for you, my dear," she said. "Why so precipitate?" Fenella gave a few details and Miss Brean kept a detaining hand on her arm. "Don't bother Mrs. Westwood," she said. "I'll go to your father. My nerves are perfectly steady and I won't distract him by talk, as she might." "All right. Thanks a lot. Tell him Nurse Silva will be along soon." Fenella found the nurse in a room adjoining the ward. Again she gave the brief explanation and, as soon as she had washed, took over bandaging the native's burned hands and arms, while Nurse Silva hurried off to give her expert assistance to the doctor. Fenella completed the dressing and cleared up. She went into the ward, where a younger nurse was frantically coping with a piccanin who had a sudden urge to tear the plaster from his cracked shoulder and run home. Intermittently, this sort of thing did happen. On her own account Fenella sent to the dispenser for a sedative, and at length the boy was quietened, and the rest of the patients were able to relax. It was nearly dark before the little girl was wheeled into the ward and gently lifted to her bed to sleep off the anaesthetic. Fenella carried a tea-tray along to her father's 164

consulting room, and Miss Brean opened the door to her; Miss Brean in a white overall with sleeves rolled up and a turban composed of a white hand-towel obscuring her pretty dark-brown hair. Clothed thus she looked plain, but enviably serene. Quite naturally, the older woman took charge of the teapot. She half-filled a teacup, poured in about a tablespoonful of whisky and presented the result to the doctor. "You drink that," he instructed. "I'll have the new "No, please." "I insist," he said, in those quiet, forcible tones which no one disobeyed. "This afternoon's little spot of bother has been your initiation to nursing. Drink it." So she drank half of it and left the remainder till he was served, too. They sat back in the hard leather chairs like a couple of old campaigners, and Fenella perched on the desk between them, sipping a cup of milkly but otherwise unadulterated tea. The atmosphere, after the hectic interlude, was pleasantly untroubled. "You did remarkably well, Miss Brean," the doctor commented. "I'll admit that my heart dropped when you appeared in plate of Mrs. Westwood. She has helped before in an emergency, and knows where things are kept and what to do. When I saw you I wondered what I was in for." "You thought I was going to be a liability," Miss Brean returned tranquilly. "If I do travel for three parts of the year, I also try to be a useful citizen wherever I happen to settle for a while; otherwise a traveller's existence is a pretty useless one. Which reminds me"—she placed her empty cup on the desk—"that I came back to the mission this afternoon fired with enthusiasm. Those people I lunched with had also hooked in the city fathers. They want to start an arts centre—something which will become so big that people will be attracted from Alimane and other towns. You know the sort of thing: music, drama, arts and crafts. Doesn't it strike you as marvellous?" "It's ambitious," said the doctor cautiously. "For a place the size of Machada." "Perhaps, but it would start small and grow gradually. From being a town of planters, merchants and the idle 1083 165

wealthy, Machada would grow into a city with a reputation for culture in the sub-tropics. Who knows, a university might be built from such beginnings." "Where do you come in?" asked Fenella. "Inviting me in on the conference was merely a courtesy gesture because I had been at the luncheon party and shown interest, but the idea appealed to me so much that I found myself taking the floor. When I said I might be here a further month or two, they collared me for the organising committee. I put forward your name, Fenella. After all, your Portuguese is improving all the time." Fenella inspected the dregs at the bottom of her cup. In low, level tones she mentioned Aunt Anna's marriage and the necessity for an early departure from Machada. "There's nothing to prevent you from staying as long as you like, though," she finished. "Mrs. Westwood would be very glad to put you up." "Why not write to your aunt and suggest that she marries without delay and flies over for a honeymoon? That way, she would meet your father." "Yes, why not?" put in Dr. Harcourt. "They could manage it during Gilson's long break." Aunt Anna would come; Fenella was sure of that. She would undertake the trip with zest and learn much that would freshen her work. And Miss Brean's point that Dr. Harcourt could meet his sister after more than two years meant that he would also have a chance of intimate acquaintance with his new brother-in-law. But Fenella knew that she was unequal to the strain of two or three additional months in Machada. She could not allow herself to care whether or not the town had an arts centre; in any case, the project was unlikely to lag simply because she had no part in it. Once these people made up their minds on a matter they invariably went ahead with it. She said idly, "Where did the plan originate?" Miss Brean smiled humorously. "Where does anything in this district originate? The brainwave was Senhor Pereira's, and the bulk of the money for the scheme will come from him He's very keen to get some English people on the committee. In fact, it was he who reminded me that 166

you'd trained as a textile designer and would be a valuable member." "How like him!" The sharpness in her voice drew an enquiring gaze from her father, and she qualified the exclamation: "Carlos thinks we're all as enamoured of his town as he is." "It didn't occur to me that you'd be against the idea," Miss Brean said, a little hesitantly. "I hope you won't be too hostile when the senhor comes to-morrow." "You've invited him to come down to the mission?" asked the doctor. "No, to the house, for dinner. I thought we could have a discussion afterwards. Do you mind?" Slowly, Fenella slid from the desk and stood very straight. A fortunate dryness in her throat halted the utterance of the words which had sped to her tongue, so that it was the doctor who spoke next. "Not in the least. Why shouldn't you have a guest? Fenella doesn't really mind, either. Sometimes his foreignness puts her back up, but she soon gets over it. There's not a woman anywhere who doesn't succumb to Carlos in the end." He smiled at his daughter. "You'll have to get together with the boy to create a meal worthy of the house of Harcourt!" She contrived a good-natured retort, and, to still the trembling which had seized her limbs, collected the tea things and carried them to the mission kitchen. To stall off thought she emptied the teapot and put away the tray. Then she walked up to the house in the darkness. In the lounge she paused. Carlos at their dining-table, polite, suave, exquisitely appreciative of whatever food was served and the manner in which it had been cooked. Carlos mocking at her across a table which was too small for his particular code of behavioiur: the slanting glance above a bowl of pink magnolias, the cheek-bones made prominent by the faintly sarcastic indentations at the corners of his mouth, the thin nostrils widened a fraction by private amusement. In the small house every finest shade of his expression, the smoky fragrance, his . . . dearness, would be brought heartbreakingly close. 167

CHAPTER THIRTEEN OF his own accord the houseboy enlisted the services of a stalwart native who put so much energy into polishing the floors that they reflected the furniture. The menu was decided upon and the boy went off for the necessary extra groceries. Fenella picked pink and red buds which would open into gorgeous stiff silk cups by evening, and arranged them in vases against the white walls. There was singularly little for her to do. Antonio was an excellent cook and, more to the point, he was at his best with Portuguese dishes. In addition, his reverence for Carlos was so profound that it was unnecessary to demand from him his utmost. Nothing less was fit for the senhor. This morning Miss Brean wandered about the house somewhat erratically. As she had expected, the doctor declined to use her services in the clinic on the grounds that Carlos would object, as he had objected to Fenella's assisting the nurses. Yesterday's incident had been an isolated exception; emergencies call for drastic remedies, but he was half-inclined to agree with the dictum of Senhor Pereira. Untrained women were careless of their own health, contemptuous of precautions which came naturally to a skilled nurse . . . and so on. Miss Brean was far too sensible to take easily avoidable risks, but she had not revolted against his decision. As a matter of fact she would have been dismayed had he accepted her offer of assistance. She had other plans for filling the day, and over midmorning coffee she made them known to Fenella. "While I'm here I'd like to explore up-country," she said. "My map shows a road which follows the coast and eventually links up with a main thoroughfare at Porto Alva. Have you ever been that way?" "I've only been as far as Alimane and Ibana. The Porto Alva road from Alimane isn't much more than a track. All transport is done on the Ibana road." "I enjoy those rough tracks — they give one plenty to think about. You meet monkeys and buck, and the natives aren't urbanised. I've worked out a two-hundred mile 168

tour which, allowing for road conditions and pauses, should take five or six hours. I'll prevail upon your houseboy to pack some rolls and cheese and a flask of tea." "To-day?" demanded Fenella, startled. "Well, I'm free of engagements to-day, and some sort of action seems to be indicated. I certainly don't intend to sit around brooding upon the fact that I've done something which has upset you." "You haven't," Fenella automatically inserted. "I have, my dear . . . though with the best will in the world. Now that I see how opposed you are to it I wish to heaven I hadn't invited the senhor, but it's done, and we must carry it off in the best mission tradition. He's coming at seven, for seven-thirty dinner. Can't we forget it till then?" Fenella warmed slightly. "Of course we can. Am I being horrid?" "Not in the least. You're just behaving a little like a damp hen, and I don't blame you a bit because I'm the cause of it." She brightened, visibly. "Why don't we both forget our woes and go out for the day? You'd love that tour, Fenella, and we can be back by five." "But I can't!" Yet even as she spoke the suggestion took hold. It would be good to have the hours till five taken care of. "Supposing the boy should need me for something." "He never does. I'll bet my hat that he considers himself a better judge of the senhor's tastes than you are." This was probably true. "Perhaps we ought first to have a word with my father," Fenella said. "He's busy, and we can't hang on till lunch-time." Miss Brean was at her most commanding. "We'll go now, and leave him a note. You've hardly moved from Machada in four months. You don't know how thrilling it can be to drive through almost virgin country in a hot, moist climate You see the most staggering things growing. Let's call the boy now and tell him to pack a basket. We shan't have to take much." It was easy for Fenella to give in. Apart from the unattractive prospect of a day at home alone, it would be a help to have several hours' respite from Machada and the atmosphere which was peculiarly Carlos Pereira's. 169

Away from the mission there would be less temptation to count the hours till she should see him again; she would not be drugged by his all-pervading personality. The lunch-box was stowed into Miss Brean's coupe, the two women got in and the car set off down the track. Soon they were out on the road, speeding along between those monotonous walls of coconut palms which seemed to stretch for many more miles than the eleven into Alimane. They had never before seemed so monotonous to Fenella. The streets of the port were busy, particularly the main shopping centre which ran parallel to the sea front. Dawdling through the traffic the small car throbbed with the heat of an oven. Fenella breathed in dust and the sticky wind, and the mixture of smells which had so romantically filled her nostrils the day she had landed from the boat. To-day it was so much part of the air that she hardly noticed it. And the names on the shopfronts had lost their fascination. The pavements were crowded, chiefly with natives, though here and there an Indian flower-seller provided a colourful relief, both with her wares and her costume. At a kerb near one of these women a car was parked, a glittering sapphire blue car with a crest emblazoned on its side. Through the window Antonie was selecting a spray of pale green orchids, and placing them against the front of her jade silk dress to note their suitability and effect. Carlos, from his position behind the wheel, was smiling and nodding at the blend of the two shades so near to the bright olive cheeks and the white silk lace mantilha. Fenella had time to notice that no one occupied the back seat of the car before Miss Brean accelerated with unusual viciousness and swept out to the sea front. "They're going to a festa — a sort of garden party, I think," she said, her voice edged with vexation. "The senhor mentioned it yesterday, but I forgot." "Antonie looked very lovely," said Fenella quietly. The car passed the small customs house at an illegal speed and made towards the rising coast road. Miss Brean let out an angry breath. "You annoy me, Fenella! Don't you ever make friends with a mirror? The way you sit back and let Antonin make all the running, no one would imagine you a darned

170

good-looking girl with plenty of intelligence. You're enough to make anyone furious, let alone a man like Carlos Pereira. I'm not a nitwit. The minute you two get within sight of each other the blades are drawn, and the fault is yours. Maybe it's a natural throwing up of defences because you're afraid he'll guess you're in love with him, but the way I see it, it's a fatal sign that you're giving up without a fight—without even a drowning struggle. What is it about English girls? Modesty is all very well, but it should never be allowed to develop into hopelessness." Fenella had nothing to offer. She hadn't been aware that her feeling for Carlos was so apparent. What could one answer to the accusation of hopelessness? What reason had she to feel other than hopeless? There was Carlos in the car with Antonie, buying her flowers to wear with her dress; a beautiful dress, with a ravishing white mantilha from the hands of the best lace-maker in Portugal and worn as only a woman born to such attire could wear it. Antonie was of his own race, his own tongue. She pleased him because she knew what a cavalheiro expected of a woman and went all out to provide it. Yet Fenella could not help but reflect that depth and mutual understanding would be lacking from their union. Antonie was already complaining about the heat; how would she bear torrential rains and the tropical blaze of summer? She had no love of Machada, no ingrained belief in the place of the Pereira family in the Province —a belief that was essential in a woman destined to become a Pereira. An intensity of emotion welled chokingly into Fenella's throat, an agglomeration of smaller emotions dominated by her undeniable love for Carlos. Impossible that Antonie could feel like this, as if her whole being ran together in a fire of need for him. And what of Carlos, the incalculable? Would it content him to have a wife who possessed beauty and breeding and an old name? Would he gladly give in to the plea that the steamy half of the year be spent away from his beloved Machada? No one would ever know. If he married Antonie he would accord her the utmost fidelity in every particular; whatever lay underneath, to the world he would 171

present a completely successful marriage. That was Carlos. The pain of such thoughts! Why had she come with Miss Brean to-day and laid herself open to the torture of seeing them together like that? What malicious force had compelled her to look into the back of the blue saloon for Tia Supervia—who was not there? There was no necessity, of course, for the aunt to accompany them on every jaunt, and the woman herself might have declined to do so. Half-seeing, Fenella watched the passing scene. Ahead, low hills billowed against the sky, and on each side stretched neglected timber among which grew banana, giant bamboos and wild fruit bush. The track, of the red soil of Africa and badly pitted, was narrow and treacherous. All Miss Brean's attention had to be concentrated on avoiding tree-boles which had once been levelled to the earth but which now, as a result of devastating rains, stood eight or ten inches high in the path. There were monkeys in the trees, though not many showed themselves. They could be located by the sudden violent agitation of branches. Now and then, to the right, the car came out above the ocean, which washed white over the great rough boulders, or frothed calmly along a beach where an expanse of copra lay drying in the sun. Near the beaches there would be fishermen a short way out at sea. They lived in the grass huts among the thinner trees at the back of the rocks, and existed almost entirely on wild fruit and berries, and what they caught. "I suppose you're resenting me for butting in on your privacy," Miss Brean remarked when she had become accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of the track. "But you realise by now that that's the sort of interfering person I am." She jerked the wheel to avoid trouble. "Have you heard anything from Austin Frankland's little victim?" This subject was more to Fenella's taste. "Not a. word. Do you advise getting in touch with her?" "Goodness, no. A girl like Maria has a certain shrewdness which will pull her through. It was fortunate that Austin didn't choose someone more sensitive who might have been seriously hurt." "Where do you think he's gone?" 172

"To England, where he probably has a fond relative or two. They will bolster his ego and perhaps line his pocket, and eventually he'll embark on a new enterprise. The resilience of the rolling stone is phenomenal." After that Miss Brean talked spasmodically about any and everything, except Carlos. The road was less interesting than she had promised. No buck emerged from the the forest, and the few natives they encountered were indistinguishable from the Tonga who visited the mission. True, there were the glimpses of the Indian Ocean, but after a while even these failed to provoke comment. They rested for lunch on the edge of a sugar plantation where the crop was young. The boy had packed rolls, fruit and cheese, but Fenella ate only fruit. She crumbled her rolls for the grey, crested birds with scarlet beaks and legs which popped from their nests among the cane to examine the intruders. Pretty birds, which were remarkably tame. Miss Brean became engrossed in her map and did some thumb-measuring. "We're only thirty miles from Porto Alva," she announced. "Not much to see there— it's smaller than Alimane—but there'll be a filling station. After that we'll make inland towards the river. According to my guide book it's hippo-ridden." "Oughtn't we to get going now." "Plenty of time." Miss Brean yawned lazily in the shade of the umbrella tree. "No one hurries in a hot country. That's what I like about them. You go slow, and miss nothing." "It's nearly two, you know." "So it is, but there's an excellent flat road most of the way back. Still, we may as well move. Cane fields are not so entrancing, are they?" During the afternoon Miss Brean showed none of the morning's anxiety for haste. As they threaded a rubber plantation and, farther on, a belt of oil palms, she expatiated about other lands in which she had seen the same things. Her powers of observation were acute. Porto Alva turned out to be a small settlement of white planters who owned the surrounding lands. Instead of each burying himself away on a small estate, they composed a tiny community and journeyed each day to 173

their work. The blessings of companionship, especially for their womenfolk, far outweighed the trouble of travelling. Miss Brean learned all this, and a few other facts, from a Portuguese garage man who had at first appeared rather truculent at being stirred from his snooze but had later allowed himself to be flattered into garrulousness. "The whole town is at siesta," she said as they once more took the road. "It's a wonderful habit, if you can cultivate it. I'm still so English that if I lie down during the day I feel a fraud." They crossed the wide road which led to Ibana and jolted along a trail even more tortuous than the coast road. On each hand stretched the grey-green foliage of pineapples, among which a desultory picking was in progress. The pineapples ended and fallow land extended in all directions, awaiting the rains which would flood the ground for the feverish planting of rice. Orchards on a grand scale; avocado pears, papaws, mangoes, bananas. More miles of the productive palm, and finally crude ungoverned jungle which was scored with native footpath; and teemed with monkeys and small game. The track narrowed and disappeared, and Miss Brean braked. "The mechanic back there assured me that we could drive right to the river bank, but I don't see a river anywhere. Do you smell water, Fenella?" "There's a damp odour, but it's stale. The trees are not too thick here. Why don't we take a walk?" "On foot in these places I prefer to be equipped with a compass and a good hefty stick. We might go a little way, and keep to a footpath." The path they chose was quite pretty. A few large crimson blossoms were scattered over the vines, and between the trees, on tall, bamboo-like stems, hung bunches of pale lilac flowers and tufts of dark-green leaves. "We're near water, or I'm a Dutchman," said Miss

Brean. Then she held up her hand. Voices sounded, the gossip and laughter of native women. "That proves it," she added. A few minutes later they found the river, but not the women. As if sensing aliens in their glade they had vanished, silently and completely. A few yards of trodden 174

bank near a brownstone boulder showed where they washed and drew their water and paused to chew cane while they talked. Only a short curve of river was visible. They seemed to have contacted it on a fairly sharp bend, so that it had the appearance of a bow of dark water imprisoned by tall trees. The surface was sluggish and uninviting. "Do you suppose the natives drink it?" Fenella queried. "Why not? They're immune to all sorts of fevers that we'd die of." "Well, there's not a single hippo. We've been had." "Have we? Watch this." Miss Brean delicately handled a fair-sized stone, took a firm stand and heaved it into the river. The plop was enormous, the ripples widened and the water smoothed out to its erstwhile treacliness. Then it happened; a strange, convulsive sucking of the water in long streaks and whirls, an angry stirring, and the emergence of the great ugly head followed by the grotesque unwieldly body. Other hippos surfaced and the young ones played, deriving tremendous joy from head-on collisions and broadside evasions. Their antics were fascinating and somehow unreal. When a crocodile snaked in among them Fenella held her breath. But to the hippos he was a neighbour with whom they dwelt in amity. Their silly big mouths went on grinning, their tiny, lidded eyes blinked foolishly and their clumsy bodies continued to bump each other with the greatest zest. The sun had left the water and was resting its rays along the treetops. After the heat of midday the air was distinctly chilly. "It's half-past four," Fenella exclaimed. "We shan't be home till after six. Do let's go at once." "We actually have till a quarter to seven," said Miss Brean equably. "We can tub and change in half an hour and still have fifteen minutes to spare before dinner. So long as we reach Ibana before dark, we'll be all right." "It's dark at half-past six. I must be home by then." "Don't fuss, my dear. On a good road my trusty bus will do seventy." But the trusty bus seemed to have mislaid itself. Fenella had relied on Miss Brean's remembering which of the 175

numerous paths from the bank was theirs. The older woman was used to this type of adventure. In this instance, however, Miss Brean had shown less than her usual sagacity. They lost a precious half-hour wandering along the wrong paths before they found the right one, and when at last they reached the coupe, Miss Brean stated that if they were going to speed the radiator had better be filled to the top. So a trip back to the river with cans became necessary. It was twenty minutes to six before the car was reversed and picking a cautious route out of the trees. By now Fenella was really anxious. At best they could not reach the mission before seven-thirty, and to turn up there all grubby and tired at a time when Carlos expected to be entertained to a meal was something which she felt she could not face. All day Miss Brean had been oddly lackadaisical, nothing like her usual smartly efficient self. She had behaved so thoroughly out of character that Fenella suspected a touch of heat-stroke; a suspicion which was rather frightening, particularly as she herself could not drive. However, it heartened her to see how cleverly the other woman negotiated the jungle track. Perhaps now that day was dying and the cool evening breeze aired the car, Miss Brean's energy would return. As she turned towards Fenella she looked cheerful enough. "Once we're through this wild stuff and the plantations we'll go like the wind," she said confidently. "We'll be more in need of that dinner the boy is preparing than the senhor himself !" Whether she thought they would arrive at the mission before Carlos, Fenella did not enquire. Miss Brean had reverted to her normal self and there was no point in worrying her. If they were late an apology would have to suffice and the dinner be put back till a quarter to eight while they washed and changed. "It is the left fork we take here, isn't it?" said Miss Brean suddenly. "I don't know." Fenella stared in front at the divided track. "I don't recollect this at all." "Nor do I." Miss Brean almost groaned. "The second track would be invisible coming the other way, because 176

of all these overgrown bushes. I expect we were talking as we came by this afternoon. Well, here goes." They bumped left, and she accelerated as hard as she dared. Here among the trees night was descending with threatening rapidity, and cold breaths of mist wreathed the trunks A buck fled across from one group of trees to another but neither remarked on it. Then came a sheer drop to the left, which they might, or might not, have passed this morning. Miss Brean said, "When we do catch up with those plantations, I, for one, will be so relieved that I might even be tempted to sing." • Fenella made no reply. She was thinking of Carlos, who at this moment was preparing to dine at the mission, and she was recalling the loveliness of Antonie in the car this morning. They had gone to a festa of some sort, and perhaps danced. They had eaten dainty trifles at a table under a tree and drunk the wine of their country. Perhaps there had been a battle of flowers and Antonie had caught a posy of blue passion-flower—for pure love and constancy. And Carlos would have looked into her eyes all those things which perhaps to-night, on the dark terrace, he would speak softly in the language which belonged to them both. Fenella saw the dark head, still covered by the white mantilha, outlined against the azulejos on the terrace; and that other, beloved, imperious head bent above her. Carlos touching his lips to the peeping ear, the smooth cheek, the curved red mouth, while triumph burned into a flame in the dark eyes of Antonie. Trembling, her nails curled painfully tight into her palms, Fenella witnessed the final blotting out of day. Night was come, and with it her mood developed into a fatalistic acceptance of the worst. The coupe crawled, and presently stopped. Miss Brean let fall a sorrowful sigh. "We're stuck, Fenella, and on the wrong road. If I could reverse in the darkness, I doubt if we'd find our way back to the fork without mishap, especially with that precipice to beware of. Even if we did, I might miss it again in the blackness. As a matter of fact," she finished heavily, "by night one can't be sure of being on 177

the right track at all. One piece of jungle is so much like another." "What do we do?" "I wish I could answer that. We'll have a cigarette and work out something. I'd give a lot to know what your father is thinking at this moment." Dr. Harcourt was, in fact, enjoying one of Carlos Pereira's cigars. They were in the small, comfortable lounge which gleamed pleasantly from the ministrations of the houseboy and his helper. The pink and red buds had unfolded their petals to exude a faint scent. Little sparks leapt from the array of glasses on the low centre table, and the two men sat smoking, each with a topaz drink at his side. They conversed quietly and expansively, till the doctor consulted his watch. "I can't think what's keeping Fenella. She always changes earlier. Miss Brean, too. I suppose they got back late from the picnic." Carlos smiled. "There is a sort of excitement in waiting while a woman dresses, a tingling of the pulses, and a question in one's mind. Do not hurry them, Doctor." "I was merely a little disturbed because I haven't seen them all day. I was kept late at the clinic—didn't get away till six-thirty. I took a quick bath and was just about ready when you came. Fenella mostly mixes me a drink when I come in, but I suppose to-night she thought I would wait for you." "Perhaps I arrived a few minutes early. I drove straight from the house of Senhor de Cardena. He was giving a little drink party to announce the wedding of his daughter to Luis Gainas " The doctor took a pull at the fragrant cigar. "Which daughter would that be?" "He has but one daughter, Maria—a frivolous child who has much need of the sobering influence of marriage with a lawyer." The doctor laughed. "So I believe. She struck me as a scatterbrain and far too impressionable." "You have met the girl?" "A few times. Fenella has had her here occasionally. Maria used to sit and make dove's eyes at Frankland." 178

"So! Yet another makes a fool of herself over Frankland." The austerity in the clipped tones made the doctor aware of something else. Unsmiling, Carlos showed a hint of strain which Robert Harcourt instantly diagnosed as mental. Somehow, one did not associate strain of any kind with Carlos; he was too much master of himself. "Austin had a certain appeal," he replied carelessly. "The young and inexperienced are often magnetised by good looks and easy charm, and he had both in good measure. Was Maria the reason you got rid of him?" "No. I had thought all that was over long ago, when I sent Frankland to live at the camp." He shrugged. "It is of no moment now he has gone and this girl is contracting a solid marriage. But it has surprised me, Doctor," Carlos seemed to be striving to keep hardness from his voice, "that you have welcomed that dissipador so freely into your house. I take into consideration that both you and he are English—he still was not a fit associate for your daughter." Dr. Harcourt was not put out. Carlos was entitled to strong views in the matter, and Austin did give the impression of being rather the caddish type. "Fenella's level-headed," he said reasonably. "She liked Austin, but there was never a chance of her becoming fond of a man she couldn't respect—I saw that almost from the start. I do concede that she showed too much sympathy for Maria. To me, it was plainly a case of girlish infatuation, and candidly, I got heartily sick of having that girl and Frankland here to lunch every Sunday." "Meu deus!" Carlos rapped out, springing to his feet, "What are you saying? Is this true, that Fenella wished only to bring them together, this Maria and Frankland? I am afraid there is much of which you are ignorant, Doctor . . . much which I am determined to understand before I leave this house to-night. But first we will dine," he said quickly, "and afterwards I will speak with Fenella . . . alone. Will you please call your daughter?" Mildly puzzled, the doctor went out. Carlos strode across the room and back again, bringing up sharply at the bookshelves as if he had believed himself in his long library at the Quinta. As the doctor came in he swung round. 179

"What is it?" he said brusquely. "Something rather serious. Fenella and Miss Brean are not back yet." "Not back! From where?" "They went off this morning, about eleven. Fenella left a note saying they were taking a picnic and intended to make a tour. They anticipated being home by five." "This tour . . . where were they going?" "She mentioned Porto Alva." "By main road, or the coast?" "She didn't say; the note was very brief. They've gone in Miss Brean's car." "I have told that woman she is unwise," said Carlos violently. "She is not only unwise but insane! They are two hours late and in the dark. What does Miss Brean know of the mechanism of a car, how would she deal with a puncture? Does she carry a gun?" "I doubt it, but in spite of what you say she's a sound woman. After all, it isn't so very late." "But it is very dark, my friend," said Carlos abruptly, "and they may be in some predicament on a wild road where motorists do not go after dusk." "I suggest," submitted the doctor practically, "that you have dinner at once, and if they haven't shown up in, say, half an hour, we'll both set out in search of them." But Carlos was already at the door. "You, my dear Doctor, will stay here," he commanded. "You will dine and rest. You have work to do to-morrow, work which requires a steady nerve and the precise brain. I will go at once to the Quinta and order that a car shall go to Ibana and along the main road to Porto Alva. Myself, I will take the coast road. Everything will be done!" Dr. Harcourt remained standing in the centre of the room. He heard the car race away and turned to find the houseboy at his elbow. "The dinner, senhor?" "Keep it for a while and bring me some salad here. I may have to go out." He finished his drink and automatically ate some crayfish salad and a paozinho. By eight o'clock his opinion of Miss Brean was seriously lowered, and by nine there 180

was a hollow in his chest and a definite ache of worry behind his eyes. It was useless to keep assuring himself that Carlos would bring the women home as soon as he found them; as far as he himself was concerned, until they did arrive at the mission they were lost. He tried lucidly to enumerate the kinds of misadventure which could have befallen them, but his medical mind switched always to fatigue and hunger, and exposure to night dampness among the trees Miss Brean mostly wore a linen suit which would be some protection, but Fenella almost certainly was clad in a thin frock with the minimum of underwear. What if the coupe had stalled and the two women had valiantly and idiotically set out on foot. No, Miss Brean would have more sense than to do that . . . he hoped. Again the houseboy appeared for orders. "Put the cold stuff in the frig.," the doctor said, with some irritation, "and go to your hut. I'll call you when they come." It was nearly midnight when the Portuguese chauffeur came to the house. The doctor met him in the porch. "No good news yet, senhor," the man said. "I have been to Porto Alva on the Ibana road and seen nothing. In Porto Alva I met the senhor, and he also has seen nothing, but at the garage there he questioned a man who directed the two senhoras to the river at about three this afternoon. The senhor instructed me to come back and report to you." The thoughtfulness was typical of Carlos. He had gone off in a bewildering blaze of excitement and anxiety, but he hadn't overlooked the miserably inactive role of Fenella's father. "Has he gone on to the river?" "Yes, senhor." "He'll never get through in the dark." "The senhor," said the chauffeur in a tone of flat conviction, "is like a man possessed. He has said he will not return without the senhoras, and he will not." The doctor did not go to bed that night. He spent most of the time in the lounge or on the porch, wishing from the depths of his heart that he had never persuaded Fenella to come to Mozambique. 181

CHAPTER FOURTEEN LIGHT was beginning to filter through the branches, the first opalescent radiance of dawn. A bird fluted overhead, and then came the distant chirp of another redwing ready to greet the day. Soon, the air would be filled with the chirring of awakened insects, and the sky would pale into a smooth turquoise. Upright behind the wheel, Miss Brean had dozed fitfully for the last couple of hours. Earlier in the night sleep had been impossible. To begin with she had blamed herself too bitterly for the situation in which she had landed them. It was one thing to dawdle just enough to cause them to be late home, but quite another to make the ridiculous error which had cost them a chilly and uncomfortable night in the wilderness. Yesterday it had looked clear-cut. For Fenella's sake she would take this chance of testing Carlos Pereira, of agitating him about her being away in the dark, goodness knew where. It had been the best means she could think of to bring whatever existed between them out into the open. The manceuvre, as well as its conception, had been utterly absurd, of course. This morning, in the cold gleam of misty dawn, she felt as if she had done something which, by a number of people, would never be forgiven. She also felt very stiff and empty, in no condition at all to face Robert Harcourt. Sickening to think of how he had trusted her with Fenella, and how she had disastrously let him down; his good opinion of her would be difficult to regain unless she could be completely frank with him. Just where they were now she was uncertain, but in daylight one could experiment with the hope of eventually arriving at some place which was marked on the map. Her efforts to reverse in the dark last night had doubtless made a horrible mess of the back of the car, but she was in no mood to care. Fenella, though she must have been worried frantic over the inevitable anxiety of her father, had behaved with commendable composure. Nor had she even quivered when, somewhere near midnight, the beasts 182

had started to prowl. About food or the longed-for cup of tea neither of them had mentioned a single word, though Miss Bean couldn't avoid remembering that Fenella had eaten only fruit at lunch, and had. scattered her rolls to the birds. This was Friday, the day of the ball at the Quinta. Odd, how such thoughts forced themselves to the forefront of one's mind at a time when their importance was at its lowest. As if to emphasize this oddity came the reminder that the first meeting of the organising committee of the proposed arts centre was scheduled for eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. She had promised to take Fenella and to make substantial proposals. The senhor was bringing an architect who would be given the requisite details for incorporation into the design of a new building. Well, she would certainly not attend the ball to-night, and her eagerness to contribute to the cultural life of Machada had dimmed considerably. Her vitality was at an ebb, as also was her self-esteem. It was nearly day, but still Miss Brean did not stir. She looked at Fenella, who had her head pillowed against the back of the seat, and again was smitten with contrition. To spend a dozen hours caged in a coupe was no joke. Fenella hadn't slept much, either, and unguarded like this she was white and defenceless. The blue eyes opened blankly. For a moment they stared at Miss Brean's wryly smiling face, and then Fenella twisted to sit up straight. "Hello. Is it morning at last?" "Just about. How do you feel?" "No worse than you do." She peered at the surrounding trees. "We got ourselves nicely boxed in, didn't we? Think you can get out?" "I expect so. The light makes all the difference!" She paused. "An apology just now would not only be futile, Fenella, but a little out of place. When we do get back to the mission I believe I'll pack and leave at once." "Don't be silly. My father won't let you. He'll send you to bed, and after a few hours' sleep you'll laugh at this. Can we start right away?" 183

Miss Brean patted Fenella's cold fingers. "You're sweet, and I've made such a hash of everything that I don't deserve your sweetness. Yes, we'll get off now and at the very first sign of civilisation we'll beg some coffee." Fenella wasn't hungry, though lack of food must be responsible for the floating sensation. She would have liked a brisk walk, but it was more urgent that they should get away from this place, to allay her father's worry as soon as possible. The poor darling must have had a frightful night. So she made do with freshening her face with water from the can in the back of the coupe, and combing her hair. With many bumps, which appeared to concern Miss Brean not at all, the car was eventually turned and, very slowly, they struggled between undergrowth and tall trees till they were running over the rough track with the precipice at one side, which they had followed by mistake last night. A slight haze obscured the morning sun and the air was fresh and cool and only faintly scented. New buds were opening in the grass beside the track, but the moonflowers had closed into white spikes upon which the small lavender butterflies alighted in vain. Presently Miss Brean said, "Keep a look-out for that beastly fork. We don't want to pass it again." When they did come to it, she vowed she would return some time and hack the obscuring scrub clear so that others were not taken in by it. Now they were on the trail which connected the Porto Alva plantations with the river. Fenella looked at her watch and calculated that they should be at the mission by eight. She had no desire for anything beyond home. She saw the oncoming car a long way off, and wondered what happened on this sort of road when two cars met. One of them would undoubtedly have to pull right off into the trees, but this other car was travelling so fast that it threw up a screen of red dust. It was difficult even to discern the colour of the car until .. . Fenella stiffened, and cast a swift glance at Miss Brean. "You'll have to stop," she said, in totally unfamiliar tones. "This is . . . Carlos." 184

It was indeed Carlos. He halted nearly level with them and sprang out of the blue car. His eyes blazed, but his features were tight with control. His habitually sleek hair was wild, as if much raked by his fingers, and the white suit was a little less impeccable than one expected of him. "You are both safe!" he said, opening Miss Brean's door and offering a hand. "You have driven us nearly out of our minds." "It was my fault," said Miss Brean, as she straightened on the path. "I lost the way and we had to park for the night. We're none the worse for it, but I'm so frightfully sorry for the trouble I've caused you." "What is the good of that . . ." he begun fiercely, and checked himself "I beg your pardon, Miss Brean. I have spent the night dementedly scouring these roads." He had helped out Fenella and was holding her shoulder, unconsciously moving a thumb over the bone. "I have brought flasks of milk and coffee. You will drink, and then I will take you to the mission." Towards the car he called, "Manuelo! Bring the coffee, and pour it." The servant thrust open the back door of the car and got busy with the cups. But Carlos filled a beaker with hot milk and brought it to Fenella. "I'd rather have coffee," she said, not looking at him. "You are pale. Drink this first—it is food." Rather than argue, she sipped. The smell and taste of the splash of whisky in the milk were nauseating at this hour of the morning, but because Carlos was near and there was nothing she would not do for him, Fenella drained the beaker and let him take it. Miss Brean finished her coffee at the same moment. "That was heavenly," she said. "I'll go ahead. I feel a new woman already." She appeared as chirpy as the newly roused birds in the branches, and a wee bit roguish. But Carlos said, "Manuelo will drive your car. You will come with me." "I'd rather not do that. I'd prefer to be the first to meet Dr. Harcourt, and do the explaining." Carlos did not insist. "Very well, then. But Manuelo will drive and you will rest." 185

It was arranged, while Fenella stood slackly under a tree. As the battered back of the coupe disappeared into a cloud of dust she felt spineless, without will or resistance. Carlos came to her side. The long, strong fingers with which he gripped her wrist were warm and vibrant. "Look at me, Fenella!" Her head lifted, though her eyes remained downcast. "You are well, pequena?" "Yes," she replied, below her breath. "Let us be honest," he said. "We owe this to each other. Perfect honesty." His hand slipped along to her forearm. "I am in love with you, Fenella, and I must have the truth." Feeling almost faint, she raised her eyes. His were hot and dark, and shut out everything but her small, incredulous face. "You're . . . tired, Carlos." He gave a brief, strained, laugh. "Tired of waiting," he said, his accents very foreign. "Four months is an interminable time At first I told myself that there would come a sign —I would know when you began to feel love for me. I would see it in some little thing you might do, some way you might look at me. You are English, and the blood is perhaps not quite so fast in your veins. Then there was Frankland—you have made me believe you have lost your head over this philanderer." "But I told you I didn't care for him." "There is more to explain about that—but later. For weeks I have thought of nothing but marrying you. I have wanted to talk to you about the Estremadura and other parts of Portugal where we shall spend our honeymoon. I have wanted to make love to you—so much I have wanted to make love to you!" The fast, impassioned voice went on, "Somehow, I have waited, always torturing myself that it is Frankland with whom you are more at ease, Frankland with whom you share jokes and hold hands. You do not realise how jealousy can rend the heart, Fenella!" Didin't she? Trembling with a sudden intoxication, she turned away her head. "I can't take it in yet—that you love me." "I have been at such pains to conceal it—too many pains! It was not until last night, when you were lost, that I 186

learned some of the reasons for your coolness towards me. I thought you could have no feeling for me till Antonie made the light remark that if I dash all over the country for you it will be said that I love you as much as you love me." "Antonie said that!" she asked, startled. "My little cousin is perspicacious in such matters, and she saw how it was with me. I was short with her, but I was grateful also. Querida," he said, not too steadily, "you will say you love me—enough to marry me?" The eyes she again raised to him were brimming, but her mouth smiled. "I'm not so cold, Carlos. I've loved you a long time too." He kissed her then, with such ferocity that her breath was stifled in her lungs. He whispered against her ear in Portuguese: "You are beautiful. I will never have enough of your kisses, never be satisfied till you are wholly mine." Smiling tremulously, she said, "When I'm more myself I'll try to answer you in Portuguese, but it won't be very good." "The breakfast!" he exclaimed, releasing her. "My poor child. We are hungry, you and I. Last night we have had no dinner and this morning, instead of hurrying to our fish and eggs, we talk love." He pulled open the car door and she got in. He came round, took his own seat and started the engine. His smile, as it rested upon her, gradually died, leaving his features peculiarly sharp and his eyes glittering. "Carlos?" she said, suddenly afraid. "Nothing." He smoothed back his hair. "It was just seeing you there beside me after my mad imaginings of the night. You must never again go anywhere without me." Fenella nodded at him, wordlessly. The whole world was alive and singing, and so was her heart. The car slipped along with none of the groaning of Miss Brean's coupe, and kept up a remarkable speed. Leaves sparkled in the sun, and through a break in the trees the low hills which were strung out against the skyline

became visible, their summits shrouded with pink, wispy clouds. From a hill they were able to view the pineapple and papaw plantations in the valley which was part of Porto Alva. 187

"Tell me what Frankland has been doing with the childish Maria de Gardena," Carlos demanded. "That young woman was yesterday betrothed to Luis Gainas, who practises as a lawyer in Alimane." Fenella sighed, but not very deeply. "I was deceived over them. I really was convinced that Austin was in love with her or I would never have helped them to meet." She explained how she had been inveigled into assisting at what she regarded as a frustrated romance, and ended, "Miss Brean produced a trick which rather cleanly put Austin out of the game. That was why he decided to ask you for an immediate vacation—so that Maria's marriage would be an accomplished fact when he returned." She paused. "You needn't have been quite so cruel when you told me about him last Monday morning." "I was enraged, with you and with him—and with myself for being jealous of such a man." He gestured emphatically. "Put yourself in my place. You entertain him every weekend in your home, you insist on going to the camp, and there you are close to him and clasping his hand. How was I to discover that you are passing to him a letter! A hundred years ago one would have run him through with a sword. I still do not comprehend why you did not come to me for advice. I could soon have righted that business." Fenella was not yet sufficiently sure of him, or of herself, to be completely candid with him. His declaration of love had come so suddenly that it had yet to become an integral part of her thoughts. Even as she sat there staring over the fertile valley she felt him only as a beloved stranger. With a jerk which was not at all in accord with his usual expert handling of the car, it came to a standstill. "We will not go on," he said curtly. "It is necessary that you eat soon, but it is more essential that we blow away these shadows which are between us. Love is all-embracing. We have only to feel it entirely for each other and the rest is as nothing. I have appreciated that you are English, that your emotions are less volatile . . ." "Carlos!" The exclamation tailed into a small, sobbing laugh. "Oh, Carlos, it's simply that I've been jealous, too, of Antonie. Everyone said you would marry her." 188

"Then everyone is an idiot," he said, with a flick of his fingers. "With Antonie I have done my duty, that is all. She was unhappy—there was a love affair which came to a catastrophic conclusion and Antonie would not let herself forget it. She has always been in love with someone, and she could not bear to be unloved. This time it was more serious; not only her pride but her heart was wounded. Her parents begged me to have her at Machada, to provide her with other interests. You remember she was sad when she came? The heart is healed now, I think, and very soon Antonie will return to Portugal. She does not care for Mozambique." Slowly, Fenella's perspective was altering, but she could not accept his inference that Antonie had considered her stay at the Quinta in the light of a temporary visit to a nice cousin. That had not been so recently, anyway. Tia Supervia had openly demonstrated her trust in a marriage between Antonie and Carlos, and it was safe to assume that she conversed upon it with her niece in private. Was it possible that Carlos had been ignorant of Antonie's aims, and had accepted her show of affection as cousinly gratitude for his kindness? For the present, Fenella deemed it wise to probe no further. "You are no longer distressed about Antonie, querida?" he asked. "No," she said softly. What does `querida' mean?" "It means 'dearly beloved'." He slid an arm across her back. "Tell me when you were first in love with me, Carlos." "That is simple. You came into my house, wearing a very blue dress with white ruffles at the throat. You looked at me with drastic blue eyes as if I were your enemy, but a very special enemy . . . and I was never the same again." He smiled, and squeezed her shoulder. "Before you came I had thought that some day I must marry, but there was no one I wanted. From the moment we met there was no doubt, but I knew that our courtship must follow the formal pattern. This friendship—which I could have dispensed with till later! —must mature into love. It is not funny, Fenella. Such procrastination makes one grow old. But I could have been patient, and in a little while have put it to your father that I wished to marry you." 189

"Why didn't it happen that way?" "Why!" An explosive sound. "I meet you at the festa wearing a scarlet mantilha given to you by Frankland You call me the despot of Machada and make me so angry that I must hurt you. It was obvious that you did not love me." "That was when I realised I did love you," she told him "Afterwards I was terrified that you'd guess. Darling, don't you see.. ." But Carlos was not proof against such endearments. He took her, quite savagely, into his arms. It was just before nine when they walked into the doctor's house. Miss Brean and Dr. Harcourt were still at the breakfast table when Fenella entered, with Carlos close behind her. Her father got up and kissed her. "My dear," he said. "What a night I've learned all about it from Miss Brean, and have just ordered her to bed. You two must be famished, but Antonio will have heard you. He'll bring fresh food and coffee." With a half-smile at Carlos he added, "Neither of you appears to require a prescription. What a wonderful thing it is to be young!" Carlos laughed, and pushed in Fenella's chair. "We must teach these women to respect our country, Doctor, but for to-day, no lectures! You have sent Manuelo to the Quinta?" The doctor nodded. "In Miss Brean's car, so that he could inform your cousin that you're safe. Ah, here's the boy." With ceremony, Antonio placed his laden tray on the sideboard and came forward to make room on the table for the dishes of fish, bacon and eggs. This was his big moment, and he made the most of it before going out for the coffee. Miss Brean's birdlike gaze lit upon Fenella's flushed cheeks and starry eyes, and flashed across to the vital, smiling face of Carlos. "Am I forgiven, senhor?" she enquired, twinkling. "You are forgiven," he stated, "on condition that you do not again entice Fenella into your car. Do you agree, Doctor?" "I agree that women are occasionally a heap of worry," was the answer. "And now you will have to excuse me. I'm already late for the clinic." "At what hour will you be free?" 190

"Not before lunch, and you'll be gone before then. Are you calling off this evening's party?" "Certainly not. It is more important than ever." Carlos paused, to give impressiveness to what he was about to say. "To-night, with your permission, Doctor, I wish to announce my engagement to your daughter." There was a pulsing silence. Fenella sat with her head bent and hands locked fast in her lap. Carlos was looking down at her across the table with an amused but ineffable tenderness. The doctor moved over and unexpectedly pressed a hand to her cheek. "I'm happy," he said, "for both of you." Miss Brean blinked away a mist. "Congratulations," she murmured. "After that I believe I really must go to bed." The doctor waited till she had gone, but he didn't say anything more. He merely touched Fenella's silky hair, gave Carlos a friendly and penetrating little smile, and went out. Carlos took his place at the table opposite Fenella. "And now, finally, we will eat. This Antonio of yours makes an appetising job of his cooking." Talk between them had to be casual,' for the servant hovered, determined to give of his best to the senhor. Carlos spoke to him in Portuguese, and the negroid countenance widened into a delighted smile. When the meal had ended he hastened outside to arrange chairs, before clearing the breakfast table. On the veranda Carlos opened his cigarette case. "See," he said. "I am also carrying some little ones for you. One cigarette, and then we will go to the Quinta." "I shall have to change my frock." "You will be quick about that. It will be a busy morning —this afternoon you must rest. However you scoff at the custom of siesta, to-day you will be Portuguese. That little sleep between accepting the felicitations of the staff and greeting our guests this evening is very necessary." Fenella looked at him and loved him; marvelled at the miracle of his loving her. "This morning," said Carlos, "we will get the jewels from the safe and choose a ring. There is one which I have selected in my mind long ago. A wedding ring," he observed in a business-like manner, "can be purchased in Alimane. Unfortunately we cannot hurry this marriage—there are too 191

many who must be invited from other parts of Mozambique —so we have to contain ourselves for three weeks." "Three weeks!" That's no time at all. My aunt in England will wish to attend." "We will send her a cable," he replied, unperturbed. "In any event, you will have Miss Brean. I have feelings that Miss Brean will still be here when we return from our honeymoon in three or four month's time. She is growing fond of your father." "Carlos, you don't think . . ." His shrug was good-humouredly arrogant. "The good doctor can take care of himself. And now you will fly away and change, and be back here in five minutes." She did not obey him at once. Instead, she tossed her cigarette over the wall and watched the bush into which it had fallen. "There's just one thing, Carlos—about Antonie. I'm horribly afraid that she and her aunt will resent me." "There will be nothing like that. Tia Supervia has a great deal of sense and Antonie is dominated by her much more than is apparent on the surface. They will both be utterly kind and helpful till they leave Machada. I will book their passage on next week's plane from Lourenco Marques, and together we will wish them bon voyage." Fenella was satisfied. She turned towards the lounge door, but this time is was Carlos who stopped her, with two urgent hands. "I love you, Fenella." Naturally, impulsively, she held him so that her mouth was close to his. "And I you, querida," she whispered. She felt his laughter. "Did I pronounce wrongly?" "No, dear heart. You mix your genders. I am `querido'— but no matter. All is heaven when two are in love." Than which, thought Fenella, there are no sweeter words in any language. THE END