The Shadow and the Peak Read online

  A minute later Mrs. Pawley herself appeared on the path. She stopped, looking at the bungalow, evidently unable to see him in the darkness of the verandah. Then she came forward abruptly and mounted the steps. He stood up.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you, Douglas,” she said, impatient and casual. “I was just taking the dogs for a walk. I thought I’d drop in this book you wanted.” She handed him the book as if she was passing on something in which she had completely lost interest. He couldn’t remember ever having wanted a book of hers. He looked at the title. It was a novel she had once asked him if he’d read, and he had told her that he hadn’t. He thanked her. “I’d no idea you were in,” she said. “Am I disturbing you?”

  “Of course not.” He glanced at the table, wondering if he could avoid offering her a drink. She saw his glance and gave a short, impatient laugh.

  “It’s all right, you don’t have to invite me.”

  “I’d have liked to—” he said a bit awkwardly.

  “But you’re afraid of what my husband would think? Really, Douglas, it’s not as late as all that, you know.” She was trying to sound teasing, but she didn’t quite carry it off. “We’re not so conventional as you imagine.”

  It looked as though he was caught.

  “I’ve only got rum,” he said.

  “I always drink rum. But I’d better leave you. I don’t want to make you feel embarrassed.” She laughed again.

  “I’ll get another glass,” he said. He hated this sort of thing.

  “Are you sure it won’t hurt your conscience, entertaining the headmaster’s wife after nine o’clock?”

  “Not at all.” He went into the bungalow for the glass, and when he came out he switched on the verandah light.

  “You don’t want that, do you?” Mrs. Pawley said.

  “I can see better to pour out.”

  “And it makes it all look so much more above-board,” she said, joking badly.

  “That, too.”

  She sat down in one of the basket-work chairs. She was wearing slacks. He had not seen her in a dress more than twice in a couple of months. Probably she preferred the slacks because they hid her ankles, which were on the thick side. Otherwise her figure wasn’t bad for a woman of thirty-five. If it hadn’t been for her bearing and her neurotic manner, she might have been quite attractive.

  He filled the glass with rum and ginger and handed it to her. As he was sitting down, she said with casual petulance:

  “Thank heavens, we’re going to have the place to ourselves again tomorrow.”

  He didn’t understand what she meant.

  “That girl will be going,” she said.

  “You mean the stewardess?”

  She only answered by saying impatiently, “Is that what she calls herself?”

  “I thought she was staying another few days,” Douglas said. “Dr. Knowles said she ought to.”

  “Dr. Knowles has no right to say anything of the sort,” Mrs. Pawley said. “He doesn’t own the school—he’s just employed by my husband.”

  Douglas said reasonably, “He only put it forward as a suggestion. He told me he’d spoken to Mr. Pawley, and Mr. Pawley had agreed.”

  “Perhaps he did.” She picked with her nails at the wicker arm of the chair. “But presumably my husband has the right to change his mind. He doesn’t want the school to become a public hospital.”

  “Naturally not,” he said. “But that hasn’t quite happened yet.”

  “In any case, we may need the sick-room for one of the children.”

  “Can’t she stay until we do?”

  Mrs. Pawley waved the question away with a gesture to show that the whole matter was outside her interest.

  “Really, Douglas, it’s nothing to do with me. I don’t see why you should bother about it, either.”

  “I thought it might be my fault for taking her round the school this afternoon. It was stupid of me not to ask your husband’s permission first.”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose you could help that,” she said off-handedly. “She’s rather been attaching herself to you, hasn’t she? I don’t think she’s a very good type to have about near the children.”

  “She probably isn’t as fast as she looks,” he said, passing this off lightly. He was trying not to sound too concerned about Judy; but he was pretty indignant. He guessed that it was Mrs. Pawley herself, and not her husband, who objected to Judy staying on at the school; and it occurred to him that she might have come to his bungalow this evening to find out if Judy was with him.

  “Please let’s talk about something else, Douglas,” Mrs. Pawley said. “Personally I’m quite indifferent about whether the girl stays here or not. I don’t think she’s likely to interest anybody, except perhaps Duffield.” She said that scornfully—her opinion of Duffield had always been low; but before he had time to make any comment she said with an emphatic change of subject, “I’d forgotten you had such a marvellous view from your verandah. It’s even better than ours.”

  “It’s delightful,” he said without much enthusiasm. He was wondering what Mrs. Pawley would have done if she had found him with Judy. Now it looked as though he wouldn’t be able to ask Judy down tomorrow night either. She’d have gone.

  “I wish you’d turn the light off again, Douglas. You can see the view much better without it.”

  He got up and turned off the light.

  “That’s much nicer. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No,” he said.

  “I love talking in the moonlight.” She gave her quick laugh. “I shan’t stay long, though.”

  “Stay as long as you like.” He made his voice toneless.

  “You do sound pressing.” She changed her tactics, and said in a laying-the-cards-on-the-table sort of way, “I’m sometimes awfully glad to talk to someone besides my husband, you know. I’m afraid I often get bored with him. He’s terribly dull.”

  “Perhaps in some ways.”

  “He is if you have to live with him, Of course he’s much older than me. You probably guessed that, didn’t you?”

  He said yes, he had suspected there might be a slight difference in their ages, although he was sure it wasn’t half what she intended to imply. He could see exactly what was coming. She was going to tell him why she’d married him, and how there had been another man in love with her, and what she would have been like if she had made a different choice. He wondered how many times he’d heard that sort of story, introduced with “Of course my husband’s much older than me.” He wasn’t far out. She said:

  “Everyone discouraged me from marrying him, you know. He was only a master at a preparatory school in England at the time. My family wanted me to marry some­one with their own social background, but I never cared about that sort of thing. You’d be surprised how many proposals I’d turned down. When I became engaged to Leonard, one of the men who’d proposed to me sent a cable from India begging me to reconsider. He was A.D.C. to the Governor of Bombay, and the first in line for a very good title. Of course I laughed. I always was tremendously full of ideals. So was Leonard. That’s what I liked about him. I hadn’t discovered that he was too weak to carry them out.”

  “Aren’t you rather hard on him?” Douglas said. “It isn’t everybody who can start a school.”

  “He couldn’t have done it without me. I’ve always had to make decisions for him. He wanted to start a school in England first. He’d never have succeeded there. There were far too many experimental schools already. That was why I made him come to Jamaica. I knew he’d have a much better chance here. Of course it meant making many sacrifices. But we both wanted to have a school. You know why, don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “I thought my husband might have told you. We’re both so fond of children. We couldn’t have any of our own.”

  “I didn’t know,�
� he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, brushing it aside impatiently. “I just thought you might be interested. Probably you don’t care at all.” She looked at him and smiled. “I’d much rather hear something about you.”

  “You know all about me.”

  “I only know you were divorced,” she said. “I share my husband’s views about that kind of thing. It doesn’t prejudice me in the least. I’m sorry for what you must have suffered.”

  “I hope I don’t look as if I’ve suffered.”

  “You look lonely,” she said. “I’ve noticed it so often.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Yes, you do.” She still wore the fixed smile. “That’s why I think we can help each other.”

  “In what way?” He didn’t want to know, but there wasn’t much else to say.

  She didn’t answer. He supposed the smile was meant to do the answering. To avoid it he took another drink. Presently she said with one of her hard, nervous laughs: “In some ways you’re only a boy still, aren’t you, Douglas?”

  “Really?”

  “You’re terrified of doing anything incorrect. I find it rather charming. You mustn’t let it stop you having fun, though.”

  “I have all the fun I want,” he said. The conversation was becoming too banal, and he wondered how he could bring it to an end not too impolitely. Fortunately Mrs. Pawley stood up.

  “Do you?” she said, in what was meant, he supposed, to he a shocked-girlish way. “In that case perhaps I’d better go before you start wanting any fun tonight. You mustn’t let it go to your head because the headmaster’s wife visits you so late.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “Otherwise I shan’t be able to visit you again.”

  “That would be most unfortunate.” He stood up, pushing the chair back first so that he wasn’t too near her.

  “I’ll let you kiss my hand, that’s all,” she said. She held out her hand towards him. He took it, feeling ridiculous, and kissed it quickly. She was in no hurry to remove it. She laughed. “You’re so absurdly bashful, Douglas. I love to tease you.”

  “I’m very easy to tease.”

  The dogs had seen her get up and were scampering about expectantly outside the bungalow. She went to the top of the steps. He had thought it wiser not to mention Judy again, but now he changed his mind. “Mrs. Pawley . . .”

  She stopped and turned round expectantly, smiling in the full moonlight.

  “Are you too shy to use my Christian name?”

  He couldn’t remember her Christian name. He believed it was Joan—but anyhow he wouldn’t have used it.

  He said, “Don’t you think we might persuade your husband to let the stewardess stay a few more days? Dr. Knowles was quite definite about the need for it.”

  Her smile went.

  “You seem very interested in that girl,” she said angrily, and turned and went down the steps. “You’d better ask my husband about it yourself. I’ve told you I’ve no interest myself in whether she stays or not.”

  He said, “All right, I’ll ask him. Good night.”

  She didn’t say good night, but called to the dogs, “Here, Rex. Here, Queenie!” and went off impatiently down the path without looking back, her hair brassy in the brilliant white light of the moon.

  Chapter Six

  Usually he calmed down about things overnight, but when Ivy woke him with the tea the next morning his indignation came back with a rush. It wasn’t only that he liked Judy and wanted her to stay. He would have felt equally angry if it had been Taylor they were turning out. The sick­room wasn’t needed at the moment for any of the children, and there were eight coloured maids in the kitchen to help carry up the meals. Judy’s presence wasn’t causing the slightest inconvenience.

  Mrs. Morgan was at the staff table when he arrived for breakfast. Pawley had just sent her up a note. It said that “owing to the lack of facilities at the school” he regretted he would have to ask Miss Waring “to make other arrangements.” The sort of note Pawley would write.

  “It’s really a shame,” Mrs. Morgan said. “It really is.”

  She had come to like Judy, whom she described as having a heart of “really sterling gold.”

  Douglas said, “Well, can’t you tell Pawley that you’ve got all the facilities Miss Waring needs?” It seemed much better that the representation should come from her. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t any of his business.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Mrs. Morgan said. She shook her head so that her cheeks wobbled. “Mr. Pawley must have his reasons.” She was frightened of offending Pawley because he might dismiss her for drinking, which would mean her husband would also have to leave the school.

  “When is Knowles coming up next?” Douglas asked.

  “Not till this evening.”

  “Then I’ll see Pawley myself.”

  Mrs. Morgan looked nervous.

  “I’d rather you didn’t mention anything I said, Mr. Lockwood.”

  Pawley was taking a class in the Great House at nine. Douglas caught him as he came into the garden.

  He said, “I know I’m interfering in something that hasn’t got much to do with me, but I wanted to have a word about Miss Waring.”

  Pawley said, “Oh yes, Lockwood, of course.” It was one of his principles that there were two sides to every question, and everyone had a divine right to a hearing. He tilted his heard on one side and lent his impartial ear.

  “Dr. Knowles felt she ought not to go down into the heat for another two or three days,” he said. “She hasn’t had the stitches out of her wound yet.”

  Pawley nodded understandingly.

  “Yes, he told me that.”

  “She’s not much of a nuisance here. If you don’t like her in the sick-room, she could have my bungalow and I could stick up a bed with Duffield. I don’t suppose he’d mind.”

  Pawley pondered this carefully, goggling through his horn-rimmed spectacles at the Japanese Hat. Then he said:

  “I appreciate your offer very much, Lockwood. But it doesn’t solve our problem. My wife feels we’re creating a precedent by letting her stay. We don’t want to give people the idea that we’re running a public hospital.”

  Douglas recognized that one. It struck him as just about the limit of absurdity.

  He said, “As far as I know, this is the first crash in these hills for at least five years. There probably won’t be another for the next five years, and even then there may not be any survivors.”

  “Quite,” Pawley said reasonably. “Quite. But once people realize the advantages of recuperating up at this height, we shall be flooded with requests to find room for patients. There are no other large buildings at the same altitude, you know.”

  “It’s easy enough to turn down requests,” Douglas said. “But it’s quite a different matter throwing out someone who’s already here.”

  Pawley looked a bit pained.

  “I don’t think we need use the expression ‘throwing out.’ You must remember we’ve already been looking after Miss Waring for several days.”

  “Well, it’s about what it amounts to,” Douglas said. Pawley’s arguments seemed so darned stupid that he was finding it hard not to sound angry.

  “In any case, it’s nothing we need get worked up about.” Pawley smiled tolerantly.

  “I’m sorry,” Douglas said. “But after a damned awful accident like that I feel we ought to do all we can, if only to give the school a good name.” That gave him an idea, and he added, “And one of the things we’ve always wanted to advertise about the school is the advantage of the healthy air up here. If people talk about Miss Waring, it’ll be good publicity.”

  Pawley looked quite impressed. He gave it several moments’ thought, and then said:

  “I wonder if that
’s occurred to my wife. It’s a most interesting point.”

  “It’s a vital point,” Douglas said, driving it home. “And if anything happened to Miss Waring because she left here too soon, you know what sort of rumours would get around. They might do us a lot of harm.”

  “We might reconsider it in that light,” Pawley said. He chewed it over a bit longer, and Douglas was afraid he was going to say he would have to talk it over with his wife, but presently he said, “I’ll speak to Mrs. Morgan and ask her if she can let Miss Waring stay in the sick-room a few more days.”

  “Mrs. Morgan won’t mind.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that, Lockwood,” Pawley said. Then his expression clouded. He stared at the toe that he was twisting on the path. Perhaps he had decided after all that he had better consult his wife. After a minute he said awkwardly, “This is rather difficult to explain, Lockwood. I hope you won’t take it personally. But my wife had another reason for suggesting Miss Waring should leave. She felt her presence up here might give rise to unpleasant gossip.”

  “The presence of any woman might, for that matter,” Douglas said, indignant again.

  “Yes, of course. But an unmarried woman . . .” He appealed for an understanding with an embarrassed smile. “We’ve both had examples of how easily scandal can be started in Jamaica. One of the children has only to write a word to his parents—of course it might be quite unfounded . . . You know what I mean, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sorry,” Douglas said. “I ought not to have taken Miss Waring round the school yesterday afternoon. I expect that’s what bothered your wife.”

  Pawley held up an apologetic hand.

  “Please don’t think we have any personal objection, Lockwood. But we must consider what other people are likely to say. And in your case we should be wise to exercise particular caution . . .” He beamed awkwardly. Douglas was meant to guess the rest of that sentence. He did.