The Secret Woman (28 page)

Of course, I thought, he would never let her go.

In a short time we should be right out into the Pacific sea and no longer see the comforting land.

And then the Island, the strange alien Island with its atmosphere of doom and curses, the Island about which everyone was warning me, without Chantel.

I left Edward in the cabin and went again to Chantel's. Its emptiness depressed me—more than that it frightened me.

I was not as bold or as strong as I believed myself to be. I should never have come on this journey but for Chantel. I went back to my cabin. Edward began to chatter about Johnny. He still wondered what he was having for his luncheon.

I couldn't settle. Half an hour had passed.

Soon luncheon would be served and it would be discovered that Chantel was missing.

Had she gone out and miscalculated the time? After all, it was what I had feared might happen to us. Oh no, I thought, Chantel would never do that. Chantel would never miscalculate.

But why hadn't she told me?

I couldn't rest. I went back to her cabin.

I threw open the door and walked in and as I did so I was caught in a firm grip and a hand was placed over my eyes. In that second I was terrified that something fearful was going to happen to me. It is amazing how many thoughts can come crowding into the mind in such a short time. I thought of Edward's being carried out onto the deck. I thought of myself overpowered, thrown into the sea. The easiest place to commit a murder would be at sea, Chantel had said. There would be so little difficulty in disposing of the body.

Then I heard a chuckle. I tore the hand from my eyes and swung round.

Chantel was laughing at me.

My joy and relief was obvious.

“Confess!” she said. “You thought I had deserted.”

“Oh Chantel, why ever did you do this?”

“I was only teasing,” she said.

“I've been…horrified.”

“Flattering,” she said complacently.

“But to give me such a fright.”

“Poor Anna. You really are devoted to me, I believe.”

I sat down in her armchair and looked up at her—lovely, laughing and mocking.

“I'm a little worried about you, Anna,” she said. “You care for people so intensely.”

I was recovering myself. “One either cares for people or one doesn't.”

“There are degrees.”

I knew what she meant. She was saying: Don't worry about me. I liked Rex but I knew it wouldn't come to marriage from the start. She was calm, judicial. I wished that I could be as philosophical.

“In fact,” I said, “I was thinking of myself. My emotions were entirely selfish. The idea of being on the Island alone quite frightened me.”

“That Island's a weird place by all accounts. Never mind. I'll be there, Anna. ‘Whither thou goest, I shall go. Thy people shall be my people.' Has it ever occurred to you, Anna, that there are quotations to fit almost any situation?”

“I daresay that's true. Chantel, you are…not unhappy?”

“Why? Do I look so sad?”

“Sometimes I think you hide a great deal.”

“I was under the impression that I spoke rashly without giving due thought to my utterances. At least that was your opinion of me.”

“I was thinking of Rex.”

“Rex is in Australia. We are on the high seas. Isn't it time we stopped thinking of him?”

“I can if you can.”

“My dear, dear Anna.” She put her arms round me suddenly and hugged me.

***

Now we were out on the wide Pacific. The sun beat down on the ship and the afternoons were too hot for us to do anything but lie stretched out on the decks. Even Edward was languid.

The atmosphere had changed. We had four new passengers who were going out to one of the Pacific ports but we saw little of them; there was not what Chantel called the “house party” feeling.

Even the crew had changed. They talked about Coralle in whispers, almost looking furtively over their shoulders as they did so. The island of mystery, where a captain—their captain—had lost his ship. It was almost as though they expected something fearful to happen there.

I saw more of Chantel than I had at any other time during the voyage. She was sorry for the fright she had given me.

“Sheer egoism,” she commented. “I wanted you to know how necessary I was to your comfort.”

“You didn't have to point that out,” I told her.

“Worrying about my affairs,” she scolded, “when your own are far more exciting.”

I was silent, and she went on: “Monique has changed. She's, how shall I say…truculent. Soon she'll be on her home ground. She'll have allies.”

“You sound as though we're going to war.”

“It might be something like that. She hates the Captain often. Then she loves him. Typical of her nature of course. Unreasoning, thinking with her emotions rather than her brain, which is not thinking at all. The setting for high tragedy. Steamy heat. It will be steamy, won't it? Tropical nights. Stars, hundreds of them. The Southern Cross, which always sounds so much more emotional than the Plow, don't you think? Great waving palms, banana trees and orange groves, and the sugar plantations. Just the right background for…drama.”

“And who will be the actors in your drama?”

“Monique the central character with the Captain in male lead.”

“He won't be there. He'll stay for three days and nights and then he will sail away for two months.”

“How tiresome of him. Well there will be Mamma and the old nurse. There'll be you and myself. I shall just be a small part player.”

“Oh stop it, Chantel. You're trying to be dramatic.”

“I'm sure it would have been if he had been there. I wish we could think of some way of detaining him. Blowing up his ship in the bay or something.”

I shivered.

“Poor Anna, you take everything too seriously, me included. What would be the good of blowing up the ship? He would have to get back to Sydney, I don't doubt without delay and await instructions. No, blowing up the ship won't do.”

“Even supposing you could do it.”

“My dear Anna, haven't you learned yet that I am capable of anything?”

She was flippant, and her flippancy was as helpful as her sympathy had been at the time of Aunt Charlotte's death. But I was the one who should have been comforting her. After all she had lost a lover—for I am sure he was that—not because anything really separated them, but because he had not the courage to marry her.

I could not help being delighted that she was still with me, which was selfish of me. How much happier she would have been if she had eloped with Rex and was in Sydney with him now.

I was amazed and full of admiration for her ability to hide her unhappiness—for unhappy she must be.

She gave no sign of this. She flirted with Ivor Gregory; she kept up her assiduous care of Monique; and during the long drowsy afternoons she and I were often on deck together.

And in due course we came to the Island.

It was a deeply emotional moment when I stepped ashore on the island of Coralle. I shall never forget the impression of noise, color, and heat. There had been a heavy downpour of rain which lasted only a few minutes before the sun came out and set the steam rising from the earth. The heat seemed terrific and in my cream-colored blouse and navy blue skirt I felt suffocated.

I was aware of the scent of flowers; they were everywhere. Trees and bushes were covered with scarlet, mauve and white blossoms. There were a few houses near the water—huts rather, and they appeared to be made of mud and wattle and were on props so that they were a foot or so from the ground. Several of the inhabitants had come to see the ship. There were girls in long flower-patterned cotton dresses slit up to the knee on one side to show bare brown legs, who wore red, white or mauve flowers in their hair and necklaces of the garlands. There were men in light-colored trousers, torn and tattered mostly, and shirts as colorful as the women's dresses; some of the children wore almost nothing at all. They watched with big brown wondering eyes.

There was music coming from some of the houses, strange haunting music played on tinkling instruments.

The sand was golden and the moist green palms were very different from those dusty ones which we had seen in the East.

And as I stood there in that torrid heat I remembered that in a few days' time
Serene
Lady
would sail away and I should be left here…a prisoner until it returned. Here was a life of which I knew almost nothing. What was waiting for me I could not conjecture; but I fancied as I had when I first entered the Queen's House some premonition was warning me. Beware!

I looked at Chantel standing beside me on that golden shore and was thankful for her presence as I had been many times before, and for a few brief moments, I allowed myself to imagine how I should have felt if she had deserted me at Sydney and I were now standing here without her. The thought of that raised my spirits. At least we should be together.

Monique had come ashore with us. She might have been expected to come with her husband but the Captain was not yet ready to leave the ship and naturally Monique was eager to see her mother. I was surprised that she had not come to meet the ship. There was no one but an old coachman, who stood there in tattered trousers, open grimy shirt, grinning and saying: “So you come home, Missy Monique.”

“Jacques!” she cried. “I'm here. And this is my little Edward—grown since you last saw him but still my baby.”

Edward scowled and was about to protest at being called a baby but I gripped his shoulder and I suppose he too was feeling bewildered, for he was silent.

Jacques was studying us curiously and Monique said: “It's the nurse and Edward's governess.”

Jacques said nothing; and at that moment, a young girl came up and threw garlands of flowers about our necks. Nothing could have looked more incongruous than those red highly scented flowers on my plain tailored blouse and skirt. But Chantel looked charming in a mauve garland. She grimaced at me, and I wondered if she were feeling as apprehensive as I was.

“We shall have to get ourselves suitably attired,” she whispered.

We climbed into the open carriage. There was just room for the four of us. I noticed that the woodwork of the carriage was scratched, the upholstery dusty, and the two horses which drew it were thin and ungroomed.

“Soon home, Missy Monique,” said Jacques.

“It can't be too soon for me,” said Chantel, “and I'm sure I speak for Missy Monique. This heat is going to take a bit of getting used to.”

Jacques whipped up the horses and we rattled along; children stood back to gaze at us with wide solemn eyes as we turned away from the sea and took an unmade road, on either side of which glistening green foliage grew in abundance. Enormous blue butterflies flitted about us and a gorgeously colored dragonfly settled on the side of the carriage for a second or two.

Edward directed our attention to it with delight.

“You will have to be careful,” said Monique with a certain gleeful malevolence. “Mosquitoes and other deadly insects will be thirsting for your fresh English blood.”

“‘Fe, fi, fo, fum,'” cried Edward. “‘I smell the blood of an Englishman.'”

“That's right,” said Monique. “You see it's thick for a cold climate and therefore more tasty.”

Edward studied his hand intently and Chantel said: “I shall be here to take care of all bites and stings. Remember I'm the nurse.”

We had turned again and were now riding parallel with the sea. Before us was a sight of great beauty—the Island in its natural state, unlike the waterfront, which was spoiled by the little mud and wattle huts, and all that went with a not very affluent human habitation. Now we could see the curve of the bay, the coral reef, the luscious palms which grew close to the water; the pellucid sea clear blue, with here and there what looked like pools of peridot green.

“It's safe for bathing where the water's green,” said Monique. “The sharks never go into green water, so they say. It's true is it not, Jacques?”

“That's true, Missy Monique,” said Jacques.

“Sharks,” cried Edward. “They bite off your legs and eat them. Why do they like legs?”

“I am sure they find arms equally delectable,” said Chantel.

Edward was staring in fascination at the blue water. But I noticed that he moved closer to me. Did he feel this repulsion which was gradually creeping over me? I felt touched that it was to me he should instinctively move for comfort.

Monique had leaned forward, her eyes glistening. “Oh, you are going to find it very exciting here.”

There was a note of hysteria in her voice. Chantel had noticed it. She took her arm and held her gently back in her seat—the efficient nurse, mindful of her duties even when trundling over an unmade road into what even she must believe might well be a very trying situation.

We turned up a path and went through a pair of wrought iron gates into a wilderness of growth through which there was a path so narrow that the branches scraped against the sides of the carriage as we rode. We rounded a bend and there was the house. It was long, of three stories, and made of some kind of stucco, but little of this was visible because the walls were covered with climbing plants. There was a porch and an open balcony on the lower floor, and balconies at several of the upper windows and where the stucco was visible it was dilapidated and breaking away.

There was a stretch of grass before it which might have been called a lawn if it had not been so overgrown. On it were two large trees which must have darkened the house considerably. But my attention was caught by the woman who was standing on the porch. She was fat as I imagined the natives of the island would be as they grew older. She was tall too and wearing the flower-patterned robe which seemed to be the island costume; her heavy black hair—turning gray—was skewered up on the top of her head by pins with enormous heads; around her neck were rows of beads made of cowrie shells; and her dangling earrings were made from these too.

She screamed: “Jacques! You've brought her, then. You've brought Missy Monique.”

“I'm here, Suka,” said Monique.

And she scrambled out of the carriage and threw herself into the arms of big Suka.

Chantel and I alighted and I helped Edward out.

“And here is my baby,” said Monique.

Suka's enormous black eyes, slightly bloodshot, were on Edward. She had picked him up and cried: “My baby's baby.”

“I'm not a baby,” said Edward. “I've sailed the sea with Captain Stretton.”

“There now,” said Suka.

Chantel and I might not have existed, and as I saw a certain mischievous look in Monique's eyes I knew that this was how she intended it to be. She was the mistress here. We were the servants. I wondered what Chantel was thinking. I soon realized.

She said: “We should introduce ourselves. Miss Anna Brett and Nurse Loman.”

“The governess and the nurse,” said Monique.

Suka nodded and the great black eyes were turned on us momentarily. Her expression implied that she did not think much of us.

“Come in to your
Maman
,” said Suka to Monique. “She waits for you.”

“Should we come?” asked Chantel sarcastically. “Or go by way of the back door.”

“You should come,” said Monique smirking.

As we stepped up onto the porch, I saw a creature like a lizard dart between the piles and it occurred to me that the houses were built a foot or so from the ground as a protection against insects.

We stepped into the hall. The difference in temperature was apparent. It must have fallen twenty degrees. In our present state we could only be glad of this. How dark it was. It was a second or so before my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. At the one window the green shutters were closed—again I supposed to keep out unwelcome insects—but this was the reason for the dimness of the hall. There were mats in brilliant colors—native work I imagined—on a floor which at home it would have been thought necessary to polish. It was rough and some of the floorboards were broken.

At the far end of the hall was a bead curtain in place of a door and on a table was a bronze figure with an incredibly ugly face, naked but for a loin cloth and beside it a stick in bronze or copper. I gathered it was a dinner gong.

We were taken up a flight of stairs which were carpeted with a strip of red, leaving the side of the stairs bare. They had not been painted or polished for a long time I guessed, and the carpet was dusty.

We reached a landing and there was a door which Suka threw open.

“Missy Monique is here,” she announced; and she went into the room.

Again we were faced with that gloom, but my eyes had grown accustomed to it. Edward was gripping my hand and I held his firmly.

It was a strange room, full of heavy furniture. There were brass ornaments, a small brass table, heavy chairs, and pictures on the wall. Here too the green shutters kept out the heat and the insects.

Seated in a chair was Madame de Laudé, Monique's mother.

“My dear Monique!” she said.

Monique ran to her and knelt at her feet burying her face in her lap. I realized that she was an invalid and that was presumably why she had not come to greet her daughter.

“
Maman
…I am here. At last I am home.”

“And let me look at you, my little one. Ah, it is well you have come home. And Edward?”

She held out a thin hand with the blue veins standing out on it; it was adorned with rings and on her wrists were several bracelets.

Edward went forward uncertainly and was embraced in his turn.

“It is so long,” she said. “So long.”

She had raised her eyes and was looking at Chantel and me.

“You are the nurse and the governess. Which is which, please?”

“I am Nurse Loman,” said Chantel. “This is Miss Anna Brett.”

“I have heard that you have taken good care of my daughter and grandson. Welcome to Carrément House. I hope you will be happy here. You are a little fatigued. I will have mint tea sent to your rooms. It will refresh you and after I will see you both.” She reached out and picked up a brass figure of a girl in a long robe which hid a bell. She moved it in a languid gesture and immediately a young woman arrived. She was not more than fifteen I imagined, but fifteen was mature on the Island. Her feet were bare and she wore the long colored gown, not very clean, which most of the women seemed to wear.

“Pero,” she said, “take Nurse Loman and Miss Brett to their rooms and then make mint tea for them. I will see you later,” she said to us. She smiled almost apologetically. “At first I wish to be with my daughter and grandson.”

As we followed Pero, Edward ran after us and gripped my skirt.

“Edward will stay,” said Madame de Laudé.

Edward was about to protest so I gave him a little push away from me.

“Come along, Edward,” said Monique. “We want you to stay.”

He obeyed but reluctantly.

Along the creaky corridor we went; up a flight of stairs with banisters beautifully carved but inlaid with dust.

Our rooms were on the same corridor, for which we were thankful. We both felt that we did not want to be far apart in this house. Mine was large with a wooden floor that looked as though it had been attacked by woodworm or some such pest. There were the inevitable shuttered windows—two in this case; the bed was covered with a brilliantly colored counterpane; the carved armchair, its seat upholstered with gold damask, was definitely Louis XV. There was a delightful console table—gilt rococo with a central carved motif. Its marble top rested on a frieze decorated with ivy leaves. It was enchanting—and genuine. The other chairs were crude, made of unpolished wood and looked as though they had been nailed together by some unskilled carpenter.

I wondered how anyone could have allowed the armchair and the console table to remain in this room with the rest of the furniture.

Chantel, having inspected her room, came back to mine.

“Well?” she said.

“It's very peculiar.”

“I do so agree. Anna, what do you make of it? It's such an odd place. So this is her home! It looks to me as if it will fall about our heads one stormy night. What do you think of the house?”

“That a good spring clean would not come amiss.”

“It hasn't had that for years. If it did, it would probably fall apart. How are we going to endure two months in this place?”

“I can only face it because you're here,” I shivered. “When I think that you might have left us at Sydney. At least that was what I thought when you didn't appear to have returned.”

“I was on board all the time, so your fears were without foundation. But we're here now and we have to stay here for two months.”