Stars Over Sarawak (10 page)

 'That's true, I have.'

 After putting another couple of questions — in the form of statements so that she would not appear to be asking questions at all — she gave up. For he remained non-committal and she felt instinctively that he was beginning to lose patience with her. However, after a while he said, with his customary edge of sarcasm,

 'Why didn't you ask me outright what the nature of my work is?'

 Colour flooded her face.

 'I wasn't being curious, Mr Denver—'

 'It is my experience that all women are curious,' he cut in. 'But they will never admit it. Hence their wandering all around a subject without getting to the heart of it. My work is technical, Mrs. Barrett, and therefore you wouldn't be any the wiser were I to expound on it.'

 Snubbed, she looked down at her plate, and for the rest of the meal, which had to be eaten in a hurry as it was already getting dark, she made no attempt to speak again.

 As before they had coffee afterwards, and now Carl himself spoke, asking Roanna how she had spent her time.

 'I just sat and thought,' she replied.

 'I should have left you a few books. Remind me tomorrow.'

 'Thank you.' She fell silent after speaking the two brief words. Night was coming down rapidly and in the dusky half-light fruit bats swooped and glided and flitted out of sight among the gaunt shadows of the trees. An owl hooted in the distance; on the lonely river bank the two Natives sang plaintively to the shrouded crescent moon. So eerie and primordial a sound, so unearthly the solitude. Roanna suddenly experienced the strange sensation of living in the very beginnings of time, long eons before man had appeared to despoil the incredibly beautiful earth. No buildings or machines, no avarice and envy ... just wild untamed nature, the inscrutable
ulu
, the seething jungle spreading away to the silent hills.

 'You're very quiet.' Carl's voice, strong and vibrant, but low and inquiring, surprising her so that she looked at him in the fading light, her eyes wide and faintly sad.

 'I gained the impression that you wished to be undisturbed.' He said nothing and she added, 'I am trying to remember that I'm here on sufferance.'

 'I detect a hint of gratitude.'

 Roanna nodded her head.

 'I'm grateful to you, Mr. Denver. I know just how inconvenienced you've been by my impulsive decision to visit the longhouse — or, I should say, by the results of that decision. You've been kind, and—'

 'I believe I denied being kind,' he interrupted. 'There's no kindness in me, Mrs. Barrett; make no mistake about that.'

 'Are you giving me some sort of warning?'

 'Correct; I am. If you should do anything to cause me any further inconvenience then you will very soon have proof that I am not kind.'

 She took a drink, embarrassed by his outspokenness.

 'I shan't do anything to inconvenience you; I promise,'

 'Then perhaps you'll not have a sample of my unkindness after all' His lips were twitching and she did wonder whether he really meant what he said. Abrupt he most certainly was, and unapproachable, because of his outstanding masculinity, but she was not at all sure that he could be actually unkind. However, she sincerely hoped she would never put herself in a position where she would be able to find out.

 Darkness fell quite suddenly and with a sigh Roanna saw Carl get ready to leave the table.

 'It's so early to go to bed,' she couldn't help saying, a little dejectedly. 'One misses the long evenings we get in our country.'

 'When you come for a short while you do, yes,' he agreed. 'I've been here for some time and I'm used to night dropping down suddenly like this.' He rose as he spoke and Roanna followed suit. 'Good night, Mrs. Barrett.'

 'Good night, Mr. Denver.*

It was a couple of hours later when, unable to sleep, she rose and left her tent, standing outside, listening to the myriad sounds of the jungle — the owl weird and mournful, the thin reedy monotone of the cicadas, and many others. Tree-frogs croaked in the branches, and from down on the river came the sound of cascading water as over a resistant band of rocks it passed, a band that had defied longer than the rest the denudation processes of nature.

 And then an alien sound assailed her ears and her eyes went swiftly to the lighted tent on her left. A typewriter ... Carl Denver putting his notes into some sort of order?

 A smile came to her lips and hovered there as she listened. Adept at most things Carl Denver might be, but his skill on a typewriter left a good deal to be desired. In fact, to Roanna, who was a qualified shorthand-typist, it was almost painful to listen to him, so slowly did he tap the keys.

 She could do it for him, she thought, but dared not go near Ms tent, much less call out to him.

 However, something was to take place that rendered him temporarily unable to use the machine at all — something which brought down his anger upon Roanna's head, causing her to smart — mentally — for a considerable length of time.

 It was the following morning and, having been wakened when the first gleam of dawn pierced a gap in the tent flap, she decided to get up and take a stroll along the lakeside. It had been a suffocatingly hot night, and the keen air of morning quite quickly revived her energy. And when a green meadow protected by trees invited she left the bank with its callas and gaily spotted anthuriums and other exotic plants and proceeded towards it. But she was to find to her horror that the green 'sward' was only an illusion and she instantly sank knee-deep into the ooze immediately beneath it. She felt sucked in and began threshing about, finally falling forward and putting out her arms for protection. But they too sank into the ooze and she found herself letting out a terrified scream which rang through the silent jungle so piercingly that it was impossible for it to go unheard. Mud covered her and her arms and legs smarted unbearably, having been cruelly cut by the lallang grass that from a distance had appeared so inviting.

 'Good God, girl— !' Carl waded in without hesitation and she was lifted on to his shoulder. He himself was knee-deep, but his legs were long and his movements swift and strong. So he was not in the danger in which Roanna had found herself and very soon he had her standing on the lakeside again. But even as he began to berate her he was shaking her at the same time, clearly affected by anger rather than sympathy.

 'You fool ! Haven't I warned you not to stray from the camp?'

 'Yes— You're hurting me—'

 'You're lucky to be alive! Another minute and your face would have been in that mud and you'd not have been able to call out!' He shook her again, to relieve his feelings, taking not the slightest notice of the tears that sprang to her eyes and trickled on to her cheeks. 'You elected to accompany me and you'll obey my orders,' he told her in a thundering voice. 'I don't talk for the sake of hearing my own voice; you should have learned that much about me by now.' Releasing her, he glanced over her mud-caked body and his mouth compressed. The man was totally without pity, she thought, feeling decidedly sorry for herself but also humiliated because of her appearance. Carl himself, apart from the thick coating of mud and slime on his bare legs, seemed to be as superior as ever, with his arrogant expression, his towering height and the disdainful manner he adopted towards her.

 'I'm so sorry,' she began. 'I had no idea that the ground would give way like that.'

 Contemptuously he looked at her and only then did she realize that she had spoken foolishly. It went without saying that she had not expected the ground to be unstable.

 'Come on,' he ordered abruptly, beginning to stride away. 'You'd better clean up!'

 'I think I'll wade into the lake,' she said in a small voice. 'It'll be the simplest way of getting rid of all this.'

 He had stopped and turned, eyes glinting.

 'You'll take no more risks,' he told her in a brusque authoritative tone. 'Come on!'

 She began to follow, but at that moment there was a creaking sound and a great tree with a myriad heavy branches began to fall towards the lake. Turning, Carl saw the danger at a glance and ran back to where Roanna was, right beneath it, wondering which way to go for the best. Already the lower branches seemed to have imprisoned her and she cried out involuntarily, acutely aware that had she kept pace with Carl she would have passed beneath the tree before it began to fall. She felt the strong arms on her body, pushing her back the way she had come; branches scratched her face and arms and dragged at her hair. Carl swore at her in a soft but frightening tone; she then heard the shattering crack as the tree finally parted from its roots. Something hit her head; she saw stars and then complete blackness descended upon her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE first thing she saw when consciousness returned was the bandage on Carl Denver's hand. But then the pain in her head took all else from her mind and she gave a small groan which brought the man from his position at the foot of the camp bed, to the side where he stood looking down at her, the most grim expression on his bronzed face. The hard eyes glittered; the thin mouth was tight.

 'I'm sorry—' The apology was cut short by his smouldering expression and she merely muttered, 'I'm causing you a great deal of inconvenience ... Your hand ...?'

 He gave a sigh; it was not what she expected to hear, for his whole manner was one of angry impatience.

 'How are you feeling?' His voice also surprised her, being less abrupt than usual. 'Head aching, I suppose?'

 She nodded on her air pillow, her mind not yet clear.

 'I think it's cut.'

 'It's cut all right.' He shook his head. 'What's wrong with women that they can't do as they're told? Why didn't you follow me instead of loitering there?'

 'I felt it would be better to wash off the mud, in the lake.' She spoke deprecatingly, fully conscious of the trouble she was causing him. She asked the time and was surprised to hear that it was only a quarter past seven.

 'So you haven't lost much time,' she said, relieved. 'You can go off now and do your work—' She stopped, her eyes moving to his hand again. 'Oh, dear ...' She lowered her lashes. 'It's your right hand. Is — is it hurt very badly?'

 'Badly enough to prevent me from writing,' abruptly and with a return of that familiar glint in his eye.

 'I can do it for you,' she offered swiftly as the idea came to her. She added that she was a shorthand-typist and therefore could also do his typing for him. His expression changed to one of interest, but the stare he gave her was frowning for all that.

 'How do you feel?' he repeated after a while.

 'Not too bad except for the pain in my head.'

 'I'll give you something for that. Your cut isn't deep and I've already dressed it. I'm afraid you've lost some of your hair,' he added indifferently.

 'You had to cut it off?' Instinctively she put a hand to the painful place. True enough she had on a plaster, and all around it her head had been shaved. Colour rose to tint her cheeks as she visualized the scene. 'I expect I shall look a fright,' was all she could find to say, so very awkward did she feel.

 'Trust a woman to think of her appearance first!' He looked scathingly at her. 'You could have been killed!'

 'I do realize that,' she hastened to assure him. 'I'm so very grateful to you for saving me.' As she spoke the whole proceedings began to penetrate the slight mist that still hung over her brain, and she remembered the fall into the mud and slime.

 'It isn't gratitude I want,' he told her sharply, 'it's obedience.'

 'I won't do anything wrong again,' she promised, a hand stealing beneath the blanket covering her. 'I'll take more care in future ...' Her voice trailed off to silence as the hot blood rushed into her face. 'You — you — washed m-me ...' Again she faltered to silence, utterly confused and embarrassed by the knowledge that he had undressed her and, after washing her, had put her to bed ... naked.

 She expected amusement and a sardonic comment; she prepared herself for the increased embarrassment this would create, and turned from his concentrated stare to put her face into the pillow. But to her amazement all he said was,

 'I'll fetch you the tablets,' and strode from the tent.

 She-murmured, almost inaudibly,

 'You're very kind,' but all she heard as the tent flap fell into place was a low cynical laugh and then an abrupt order given to one of the Natives outside.

 Within five minutes of taking the tablets Roanna thankfully felt the pain fading. Carl entered later and in answer to his inquiry she was able to say that the pain had disappeared completely and she was ready to get up. At that he did then produce a faint smile, but his voice was untouched by humour as he said,

 'Your clothes are drying over on a tree, but you have the cotton dress somewhere about?'

 'Yes, it's over in that box.'

 'Then you'll have to wear it.' A small pause and then, 'If you're feeling quite yourself we'll discuss that matter of your doing my writing for me. Shorthand will certainly be useful and time-saving.'

 He went out. She stared at the tent flap for a few seconds before getting up from the bed. He had certainly managed most adeptly to save her any further embarrassment over the question of his having put her to bed. Roanna felt a strange and transient emotion dart through her like the swift elusive passage of an act in a dream. Perhaps Carl Denver was not quite so heartless as he would have people believe.

 A couple of hours later she and he were alone in the deep jungle, Carl dictating rapidly and Roanna taking it all down. He made no comment or sign that her help was in any way appreciated, but she knew that the speed with which he was getting through the work must be impressing him, for to write it all down in long-hand as he had been doing was both time-consuming and tiring.

 'I think we'll stop for coffee and a snack,' he said at last, turning from his contemplation of the rocks to glance at her. His eyes flickered over the dress, which she had pulled in at the waist with nothing more glamorous than a piece of string she had found lying on the ground where one of the Natives had dropped it. Carl's eyes travelled to the plaster on her head; she felt conscious of the white patch surrounding the plaster and automatically lifted a hand as if to hide it from his gaze. Faintly he smiled, without a trace of humour, and turning, he seemed to be lost in the landscape again. But he remained silent and Roanna took out the flask from the rucksack which lay on the ground on top of a folded waterproof sheet.

 'It's ready,' she ventured rather timidly after a while. 'I've poured the coffee.'

 'And it's getting cold,' he finished for her, sitting down on the groundsheet which she had unfolded and spread on a rocky ledge in the mountain. 'Have you put sugar in it?'

 'Yes; one. Is that right?'

 He nodded absently ... as he might have done to a wife to whom he'd been married for years, she thought absurdly, and had to smile to herself. She tried to think of Andrew, wondering what he would say could he see her now. But she knew, really. He would praise her for her bravery, as he would term her decision to enter the jungle with Carl. She gave a small sigh and wished he were here with her. So soothing he was, and so unemotional. She would never be subjected to anger or impatience, never find herself forced to obey commands or yielding to mastery. Life held the promise of fair weather all the time ... smooth paths, unwinding and perhaps a little monotonous because of this, but pleasant to travel along for all that.

 Carl Denver brought his mind from his work at last and, noting her dreamy expression asked in some amusement what she was thinking about. But he answered the question himself before she could do so.

 'The ideal, I suppose.' And, after a slight pause during which he examined her face with an odd expression, 'What would he think if he could see you now?'

 Roanna lifted her cup to her mouth and took a drink.

 'I've just been thinking about that myself as a matter of fact,' she owned. 'He'd be filled with admiration for my courage—' She stopped and gave a deprecating shrug of her shoulders. 'I don't call it courage, but he. would,' she went on to add, a smile fluttering to her lips as she spoke.

 'Filled with admiration, eh?' The sardonic tone again, and the faintly contemptuous expression portrayed every time Andrew was mentioned. Roanna wished she had changed the subject right at the start. 'Does the fellow not know what jealousy is?'

 'He trusts me; I've already told you that.'

 'Then he's a fool!'

 Roanna started at the snap of the words.

 'You're not very tactful, Mr. Denver,' she chided gently. 'Andrew happens to know he can trust me — implicitly.' She moved a little so that she faced him; but his head was turned and she saw only the profile for the moment — a stern set profile with clear-cut lines and curves darkly outlined against the rising limestone mass behind and to the left of him.

 His face came round.

 'I've yet to meet the woman who can be trusted implicitly,' he said forthright try. 'Have you ever been tempted, Mrs. Barrett?' he added, rather to her surprise.

 'No, but that's nothing to do with it—'

 'Most definitely it has,' he intervened abruptly. 'Only those who have resisted temptation can be said to be trustworthy. If you've never been tempted then you don't even know yourself whether or not you're to be trusted.' Leaning forward, he picked up a sandwich from the paper plate on which Roanna had placed them.

 'Perhaps,' ventured Roanna after a moment of hesitancy, 'you've been let down at some time or another?' Once out, the question seemed like an impertinence and she waited breathlessly for him to admonish her. But instead he said, without much expression, 'I expect Malcolm's talked, so you'll know very well that I've been let down.'

 She coloured, a circumstance that appeared to afford him a small degree of amusement.

 'He did tell me that you'd been married,' she admitted presently. 'But I don't understand your attitude, for all that. The next girl might be totally different—'

 'There won't be a next,' he cut in tautly. 'Only an imbecile puts his head into a noose a second time.'

 'I don't consider I'm putting my head in a noose. I know I shall be happy, and I believe that, some day, you also will find someone you can love.' She did not quite know whether or not she did believe this, but she had an urge to give him hope for the future, as he. suddenly appeared as a very lonely man despite his inordinate confidence and self-sufficiency.

 A cynical curve of his lips and then,

 'So we're back to romance? A woman's idea of a panacea for all emotional misfortunes.'

 'I'm not really a romantic,' she denied, deliberately allowing his heavy sarcasm to pass without comment. 'I said I know I shall be happy ...' Something made her trail off; not doubt but a slight uneasiness that had never before intruded.

 'But not deliriously so,' he finished slowly and evenly, with his eyes fixed upon her face. 'Have you pictured the scene that will dominate your life once you're married to this ideal of yours?'

 Roanna frowned with annoyance and refrained from answering immediately. She hated his talking about Andrew like this and felt she could have avoided the conversation had she handled it differently in the beginning. She took another drink and listened to the singing birds in the trees. A hornbill could be heard not far away, making his peculiar sound, rather like the creaking of a dead tree branch in the wind; cicadas sounded like violas as the noise they made echoed against the tree-clothed lower slopes of the mountains.

 Carl spoke, softly and yet with a distinctly curious inflection in his attractively-timbred voice.

 'Are you not willing to answer my question, Mrs. Barrett?'

 She glared swiftly at him, then away again, moving the liquid in her cup with an automatic gesture, and staring into the whirlpool she had made.

 'It might not be exciting—'

 '
Might
not?' with a slanting glance, both mocking and amused. 'It'll be damned dull from what I can see.'

 She coloured — as she so often coloured when in this man's company. This time it was anger that reddened her cheeks.

 'Andrew isn't that kind of man,' she began defensively, half wishing she was not so heavily indebted to Carl, for then she could retaliate in some strength, putting him in his place once and for all.

 'Isn't what kind of man?'

 'The — er — passionate type—' Her colour heightened as a laugh escaped her companion.

 'You've no need to tell me that,' he said at length. 'It's more than evident that your Andrew is the stolid, phlegmatic type whom even Venus herself couldn't stir.'

 Roanna said after a while,

 'Mr. Denver, I've already given you to understand that your disdainful remarks about Andrew are hurtful to me. Please don't persist in. making them.'

 She wondered if he would apologize, but very soon saw that no such thing as an apology was likely to be voiced. Nor was Carl Denver ready to drop the subject, for he immediately asked her outright if she would be quite satisfied with a life of such tranquillity — a life without any sort of passion entering into it.

 'You said, if I remember correctly,' he added, 'that you were afraid, and this was your reason for choosing so mild and uninteresting a man as this Andrew.'

 'He isn't uninteresting!' she couldn't help retorting, while at the same time she was wondering why Carl should be bothering about the matter at all, since she was sure her future was of no interest to him whatsoever. 'And as for the tranquillity you speak of — yes, that is what I want, after what I've been through with my first husband.' Carl remained silent and she added, feeling suddenly that it must be the environment that was making her expansive all at once, for the scene was lonely ... and intimate, somehow. 'Andrew has said that ours won't be one of those passionate affairs that sweep — sweep lovers to their heights ...' She looked at him, swallowing but yet strangely losing her embarrassment instantly on noting his interested expression. His face was unsmiling, his eyes fixed intently upon her. The sandwich in his hand was as yet untouched. 'We get along fine, though,' Roanna continued, 'and we love each other. So there is really no risk for either of us.'