The House of Seven Fountains by Anne Weale

said as they went down the veranda steps to the car.
    “I don’t mind. A breeze will keep me cool,” Vivien said.
    “Sure?”
    He helped her into the car as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain.
    “Positive,” she assured him. “This is a lovely car, Julian.”
    “Yes, she’s a nice-looking job,” he agreed, sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door. “ On a good road I’ve had her up to ninety-five. Do you drive?”
    “Yes, but not at that speed,” Vivien said, wondering how Julian would have dealt with her aunt, who was one of those infuriating backseat drivers, forever calling out unnecessary warnings and reminders not to exceed the speed limit.
    By the light of the headlamps the lower part of the drive was even more eerie than in daytime. I hope I never have to walk up here alone , Vivien thought with an involuntary shiver.
    “Does it give you the creeps?” Julian asked, sensing her thought.
    “Yes. I was imagining all the snakes there must be in that undergrowth.”
    “Quite a few wild pigs, too, I should think. They’re nasty beasts. I shouldn’t wander around alone even by day.”
    “I certainly don’t intend to,” she said warmly as they reached the gateway and turned up the road.
    “What sort of chap is your head man?” Julian asked. “I’m not very happy about your being alone up there at night, you know.”
    “Oh, I shall be perfectly safe in the house,” she said confidently. “Chen seems most efficient and Ah Kim—you saw her just now—is a dear little thing.”
    Vivien asked him some questions about the car and by the time he had explained all the coupe’s merits they were at the club.
    A row of equally luxurious cars was parked in front, and hearing the babel of chatter drifting out through the open windows, Vivien was overcome with a perceptible nervousness.
    “Don’t panic. They won’t eat you,” Julian said as he helped her out. “We’ll find a quiet corner and lay bets on who will be the first to approach us.”
    Tense with stage fright but managing to smile with a creditable semblance of composure, she let him lead her up the steps, through the foyer and into the main lounge. They had scarcely crossed the threshold before a deathly hush fell over the entire room. It lasted less than ten seconds, and then the buzz of conversation began again, but in that short space of time Vivien felt twenty pairs of eyes raking her from head to foot. But for Julian’s hand on her arm, she would have turned and fled.
    The short distance between the doorway and the bar seemed like a hundred yards, and when Julian helped her onto a tall stool and settled himself beside her she felt as though she had been through a physical ordeal.
    “What will you have? Martini?”
    “Just a lemonade, please,” she said in a strained voice.
    “Oh, come on, you must have something with a bit of a kick in it,” he protested. “How about another Barclay Special?”
    “No, really, I’d rather have a soft drink,” she said firmly.
    “As you wish. A lemonade and a double whiskey, Joe,” he said to the bartender.
    “Well, what do you think of them?” Julian asked, indicating the people in the lounge who were reflected in the long mirror behind the bar.
    Vivien took a furtive survey of her fellow Europeans. Most of them seemed to be middle-aged, but there was a group of young army officers in one corner and a peroxide blonde was holding court to several raffish-looking men at a table by the windows.
    “The chaps with the bloodshot eyes are planters on their weekly spree,” Julian said, following her glance. “The blond beauty is the wife of an army officer who spends most of his time in the jungle. As you see, she manages to occupy herself in his absence.”
    “Isn’t that a rather slanderous way of putting it?” Vivien said.
    “Not nearly as slanderous as it could have been.” He grinned. “But nobody pays any attention to these little diversions out here. The blessed state of