desk which was mainly black, all the furniture was in a golden, satiny wood and, though of no particular design, it had pleasing curves and uniformity of style. Involuntarily, it came to Lyn that in England, where wood-borer, white ant and damp rot were the exception rather than the rule, Adrian would make an enviable job of furnishing a house. Here he had done his best with the materials and craftsmanship available on the spot, and chosen an unusual color scheme of dove-grey and turquoise with the golden wood, against dead white walls.
The men in tennis shorts drank thirstily from tall glasses, and one of them selected a Viennese waltz record for the gramophone and pretended to dance with a chair. Without searching through the cabinet of records, Lyn knew that all the masters were represented there as well as the light classical composers and a few modern melody - makers. About Adrian, whom she could not help but regard as something of a blight, she was gradually and instinctively learning a good deal.
He circulated among the guests, ensuring that they were supplied with snacks and drinks. Tall, with those straight, lean features and brown skin, there was a masterfulness in him, an air of command which reminded Lyn of all that Claud had said about him last night. Adrian was the boss of Denton Rubber Estates Ltd., and wealthy. He lived in this filthy climate from choice, without even the boon of a wife. His nature was cold and rational, his work among the handful of white men and whole villages of natives had killed off his emotions. To be angry with such a man could do no good, yet the very sight of him tightened her nerves in defiance. Lyn quickly finished her drink and disposed of her glass.
Mrs. Baird was saying, “If we’re going down to the club for dinner it’s time we thought about dressing. The first arrivals always get the best food. I’m afraid we’ll have to go, doctor.”
He joined the group. “Very well, if you must. You and John will dine with me tomorrow?”
“Thanks so very much — we’d love it of course,” with a hint of coyness. She addressed Lyn: “Are you coming with us tonight?”
“D’you mind if I don’t? Melia’s cooking for me, and I intended to have an early night.”
Apparently Rosita understood and had no regrets. There was a sigh of disappointment from Roger, but he drifted off with the Bairds and several of his colleagues. The only remaining guests were four older men who were playing cards at the other end of the lounge.
Lyn was leaving too, turning in the porch to murmur a word of thanks to Adrian. Lightly he touched her arm to detain her.
“I’d like a word with you. Come over here and sit comfortably.” He pulled forward an upholstered rattan chair, saw her seated and dropped into another near by with his legs stretched out in front of him. He indicated the lounge. “Those card fiends in there are staying for the evening. We shan’t be interrupted.”
Matching his expressionlessness she said, “Would it matter a lot if we were?”
“Yes, it would. I’m the sort who prefers to be certain his viewpoint won’t be misunderstood, particularly when I’m dealing with someone like you. It’s not my habit to say or do things in a hurry.”
“You intrigue me,” she said in a steady little tone and with a steady little smile.
He smiled too, but enigmatically, and he leaned back in his chair, apparently in no hurry to begin. In fact his expression went remote, as though the main part of his mind were occupied elsewhere.
Lyn looked out at the still green trees. Distinctly came the shrill chirping of crickets, the high-pitched whirr of the singing beetles. Abruptly, night had fallen, unveiling a glittering array of stars presided over by the Southern Cross. Tonight, the friendly radiance of the waning mean was absent and the atmosphere was at o nce calm and stringent and merciless. Like the man at her side.
“When did you first meet Claud Merrick?” he
The men in tennis shorts drank thirstily from tall glasses, and one of them selected a Viennese waltz record for the gramophone and pretended to dance with a chair. Without searching through the cabinet of records, Lyn knew that all the masters were represented there as well as the light classical composers and a few modern melody - makers. About Adrian, whom she could not help but regard as something of a blight, she was gradually and instinctively learning a good deal.
He circulated among the guests, ensuring that they were supplied with snacks and drinks. Tall, with those straight, lean features and brown skin, there was a masterfulness in him, an air of command which reminded Lyn of all that Claud had said about him last night. Adrian was the boss of Denton Rubber Estates Ltd., and wealthy. He lived in this filthy climate from choice, without even the boon of a wife. His nature was cold and rational, his work among the handful of white men and whole villages of natives had killed off his emotions. To be angry with such a man could do no good, yet the very sight of him tightened her nerves in defiance. Lyn quickly finished her drink and disposed of her glass.
Mrs. Baird was saying, “If we’re going down to the club for dinner it’s time we thought about dressing. The first arrivals always get the best food. I’m afraid we’ll have to go, doctor.”
He joined the group. “Very well, if you must. You and John will dine with me tomorrow?”
“Thanks so very much — we’d love it of course,” with a hint of coyness. She addressed Lyn: “Are you coming with us tonight?”
“D’you mind if I don’t? Melia’s cooking for me, and I intended to have an early night.”
Apparently Rosita understood and had no regrets. There was a sigh of disappointment from Roger, but he drifted off with the Bairds and several of his colleagues. The only remaining guests were four older men who were playing cards at the other end of the lounge.
Lyn was leaving too, turning in the porch to murmur a word of thanks to Adrian. Lightly he touched her arm to detain her.
“I’d like a word with you. Come over here and sit comfortably.” He pulled forward an upholstered rattan chair, saw her seated and dropped into another near by with his legs stretched out in front of him. He indicated the lounge. “Those card fiends in there are staying for the evening. We shan’t be interrupted.”
Matching his expressionlessness she said, “Would it matter a lot if we were?”
“Yes, it would. I’m the sort who prefers to be certain his viewpoint won’t be misunderstood, particularly when I’m dealing with someone like you. It’s not my habit to say or do things in a hurry.”
“You intrigue me,” she said in a steady little tone and with a steady little smile.
He smiled too, but enigmatically, and he leaned back in his chair, apparently in no hurry to begin. In fact his expression went remote, as though the main part of his mind were occupied elsewhere.
Lyn looked out at the still green trees. Distinctly came the shrill chirping of crickets, the high-pitched whirr of the singing beetles. Abruptly, night had fallen, unveiling a glittering array of stars presided over by the Southern Cross. Tonight, the friendly radiance of the waning mean was absent and the atmosphere was at o nce calm and stringent and merciless. Like the man at her side.
“When did you first meet Claud Merrick?” he