Part 38 (1/2)
”He is a good fellow, and I do not care to give him pain--unless you force me to.”
He searched her face keenly, but found no trace there of anything except a courteous interest in his conversation. She did not mean him to guess how much Vereker Sarle's happiness meant to her.
”Anything else?” she dared him.
”Well, of course I should like to know where the real Lady Diana is,”
he said carelessly. That gave her a bad moment. Mercifully, the waiter created a diversion by knocking a coffee-cup over as he removed the tray, and Sarle, returning, had some news for Kenna of a mutual friend's success in some political campaign. This gave her a short s.p.a.ce in which to recover. But she was badly shaken, and wondered desperately how she was going to get through the rest of the evening if Kenna clung. They sat talking in a desultory fas.h.i.+on, each restlessly watching the others. There was a clatter of conversation about them, and in the adjoining drawing-room a piano and violins had begun to play. The air was warm and heavy. For some reason April could not fathom the French windows had been closed, and there was a swis.h.i.+ng, seething sound outside, as though the sea was rus.h.i.+ng in tides through the garden. She felt curiously unstrung. It was not only the nervous effect of having these two men so intent upon her every word and movement, but there was something extraordinarily disturbing in the atmospheric conditions that made the palms of her hands ache and her scalp p.r.i.c.kle as from a thousand tiny thorns.
”I don't think I can bear this place much longer,” she said suddenly, even to herself unexpectedly. ”Wouldn't it be cooler out where we were sitting this afternoon?”
”I think so,” said Sarle briskly. ”Besides I want to show you the garden.” He rose, but Kenna rose too.
”My dear fellow,” he expostulated gently, ”don't you realize there is a south-easter blowing? We can't subject Lady Di to the curse of the Cape tonight. It always affects new-comers most disagreeably. In fact, I think she is suffering from it already.”
”Is that what is making me p.r.i.c.kle all over and feel as though I want to commit murder?” she inquired, with rather a tremulous smile. ”What is this new African horror?”
”Only our Cape 'mistral.'” Sarle looked at her anxiously. ”It's blowing a bit hard in the trees outside, but----”
”I thought that was the sea. If it's only the wind I don't mind.” She rose, half hesitating. ”I love wind.”
”I think it would be very unwise of you to go,” said Kenna quietly.
Sarle thought him infernally interfering, though he heard nothing in the words but friendly counsel. To April the remark contained a threat, and she gave way with as good a grace as she might, holding out her hand to say good-night to them.
”Perhaps I had better postpone acquaintance with your curse as long as possible.” The words were for Kenna, her smile for Sarle.
”I will see you to the lift,” the latter said. Kenna could hardly offer to come too, but as it was only just across the lounge to the hall, and within range of his eye, perhaps he thought it did not matter. He could not know that Sarle, sauntering with a careless air beside her, was saying very softly and only for her ear:
”It is quite early. If instead of taking the lift again you came down the main staircase, you would find a door almost opposite, leading into the garden. I think you promised?”
His voice was very pleading. She did not answer, nor even turn his way. But once safely in the lift, out of the range of Kenna's gimlet eyes, over the shoulders of the stunted brown lift-boy she let her glance rest in his, and so told him that he would have his wish.
There must have been some witchery in that south-east wind. She knew it was madness to go, that she was only entangling herself more closely in a mesh which could not be unravelled for many days. Yet within half an hour she was out there in the darkness, with the wind tearing at her hair and flickering her cloak about her like a silken sail. When she closed the door behind her and went forward it was like plunging into an unknown purple pool, full of dark objects swaying and swimming beside her in the fleeting darkness. Tendrils of flowering plants caught at her with twining fingers. A heavily scented waxen flower, pallid as the face of a lost soul, stooped and kissed her from a balcony as she pa.s.sed. The young trees were like slim girls bowing to each other with fantastic grace; the big trees stood together ”terrible as an army with banners,” raging furiously in an uproar like the banging of a thousand breakers upon a brazen beach. The sky was full of wrack, with a s.n.a.t.c.h of moon flying across it, and a scattering of lost stars.
She felt more alive and vital than ever in her life before. The clamour of the storm seemed to be in her veins as well as in her ears.
She was glad with a wild, exultant happiness of which she had never dreamed, when she found herself s.n.a.t.c.hed by strong arms and held close, close. The maelstrom whirled about her, but she was clasped safe in a sheltered place. Sarle kissed her with long, silent kisses. There was no need for words, their lips told the tale to each other. It seemed to her that her nature expanded into the vastness of the sea and the wind and the stars, and became part with them. . . . But all the while she was conscious of being just a slight, trembling girl held close against a man's heart--the right man, and the right heart! She had come across the sea to find him, and Africa had given them to each other. She lost count of time and place and terror. The burden of her trouble mercifully left her. She remembered only that she and Vereker Sarle loved each other and were here alone together in this wind-wracked wilderness of perfumed darkness and mystery. Her ears and mind were closed to everything but his whispering words:
”My darling, my darling . . . I have waited for you all my life . . .
women have been nothing to me because I knew you were somewhere in the world. I have crossed the veld and the seas a thousand times looking for you, and have found you at last! I will never let you go.”
He kissed her throat and her eyes. More than ever her whiteness shone in the gloom with the luminousness of a pearl.
”Your beauty makes me tremble,” he whispered in her hair. ”Darling, say that you love me and will give yourself to me for ever.”
”I love you, Vereker. . . .”
”Call me Kerry.”
”I love you, Kerry. I give myself to you.”
She rejoiced in her beauty, because it was a precious gift to him.