father’s, “This is where we get back to normal, eh, Steve? What will you have?” She heard Steve’s tones, “I can wait for Peg, if you can.”
She squared her shoulders and walked into the living room, said good evening with a pleasant but distant s mile and asked for lime and soda.
“No gin?” said Steve with a challenging inflection. “Haven’t you got round to choosing your tipple yet?”
“No gin,” she answered, not taking him up.
“She’s pigheaded,” murmured her father. “Everyone tells her that gin or whisky is actually good for her out here, and for that reason she’ll get along without it. She says that if you rely on a booster you’re never sure how much of the tropics you can really take.”
“Meanwhile,” Steve commented, “she loses the conviviality that goes with a sundowner. Still, she’s plenty of time for it.” He lifted his glass. “Here’s to you both.” He looked handsome tonight in a very white shirt and fawn trousers. There was a muscular strength in the broad shoulders and a disturbing intimacy about the brown throat that showed in the opening of his collar. The cleft in his chin was deeply marked in the lamplight; it made the jaw appear hard even when his expression was companionable and nonchalant.
Jim went out to prepare a fresh syphon of soda, and Steve leaned back in his chair, studying first Peg and then the vase just behind her.
“You’ve made quite a show over there on the table. I’ve never seen half a dozen full-blown gardenias to better advantage. Did you bring the vase from England?”
“It was my mother’s,” she said quie tl y.
“I’d say it suggests her character.”
Surprised and warmly pleased by the discovery that Steve could gather so much from an appraisal of the Etruscan-style vase, she gave him an unwittingly soft and luminous look.
“Yes, it does. I think it was an early present from my father. My mother never mentioned it, but the whole year round she found flowers for it. I shall try to do the same here.”
His shrewd glance had returned to Peg’s slim shoulders, her healthy pink lips and the pale shining hair.
“You still make me feel slightly worn at the edges,” he commented. And then Jim came back into the room.
Dinner was served at a smooth pace, and no one could have been more charmingly appreciative than Steve. He insisted that Nosoap’s cooking had improved since Peg’s arrival.
“Maybe it takes a woman to bring out the best in a Malay cook,” he observed. “Most of our cooks have had a short spell with Mrs. McTeale, but they tend to go off after a while unless there’s a woman in the home to keep them at it.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” said Peg politely. “Shall we move closer to the door for coffee?”
Nosoap cleared the table and brought the coffee tray to Peg’s grass table. Jim got out the liqueur brandy and glasses and the three of them settled in armchairs, a triangle about the low table, which Steve inspected admiringly.
“I think I’ll get one of those,” he said. “That mahogany thing of mine has wood beetle and it’ll have to be burnt. These grass things get it as well, but they’re easily renewed. I see you have bookshelves, too.”
“Peg’s idea,” said Jim with a laugh. “You should see her bedroom!”
Steve smiled mockingly. “What about it, Peg?”
“Go ahead,” she said lightly. “You probably know where it is.”
“Some other time, perhaps.” He offered cigarettes, set the flame o f his lighter to Jim’s cheroot and held it there till the thing was glowing. Then he leaned back again. “I’ve something to tell you, Jim, and I know you too well to wrap it up. The company is aiming to buy up all the plantations on Motu.”
“Is that a fact?” said Peg’s father, unimpressed. Then he sat a little straighter. “I’ve heard those rumours too, but they don’t mean a thing. Did they get about before you went on leave?”
Steve nodded. “Some company officials
She squared her shoulders and walked into the living room, said good evening with a pleasant but distant s mile and asked for lime and soda.
“No gin?” said Steve with a challenging inflection. “Haven’t you got round to choosing your tipple yet?”
“No gin,” she answered, not taking him up.
“She’s pigheaded,” murmured her father. “Everyone tells her that gin or whisky is actually good for her out here, and for that reason she’ll get along without it. She says that if you rely on a booster you’re never sure how much of the tropics you can really take.”
“Meanwhile,” Steve commented, “she loses the conviviality that goes with a sundowner. Still, she’s plenty of time for it.” He lifted his glass. “Here’s to you both.” He looked handsome tonight in a very white shirt and fawn trousers. There was a muscular strength in the broad shoulders and a disturbing intimacy about the brown throat that showed in the opening of his collar. The cleft in his chin was deeply marked in the lamplight; it made the jaw appear hard even when his expression was companionable and nonchalant.
Jim went out to prepare a fresh syphon of soda, and Steve leaned back in his chair, studying first Peg and then the vase just behind her.
“You’ve made quite a show over there on the table. I’ve never seen half a dozen full-blown gardenias to better advantage. Did you bring the vase from England?”
“It was my mother’s,” she said quie tl y.
“I’d say it suggests her character.”
Surprised and warmly pleased by the discovery that Steve could gather so much from an appraisal of the Etruscan-style vase, she gave him an unwittingly soft and luminous look.
“Yes, it does. I think it was an early present from my father. My mother never mentioned it, but the whole year round she found flowers for it. I shall try to do the same here.”
His shrewd glance had returned to Peg’s slim shoulders, her healthy pink lips and the pale shining hair.
“You still make me feel slightly worn at the edges,” he commented. And then Jim came back into the room.
Dinner was served at a smooth pace, and no one could have been more charmingly appreciative than Steve. He insisted that Nosoap’s cooking had improved since Peg’s arrival.
“Maybe it takes a woman to bring out the best in a Malay cook,” he observed. “Most of our cooks have had a short spell with Mrs. McTeale, but they tend to go off after a while unless there’s a woman in the home to keep them at it.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” said Peg politely. “Shall we move closer to the door for coffee?”
Nosoap cleared the table and brought the coffee tray to Peg’s grass table. Jim got out the liqueur brandy and glasses and the three of them settled in armchairs, a triangle about the low table, which Steve inspected admiringly.
“I think I’ll get one of those,” he said. “That mahogany thing of mine has wood beetle and it’ll have to be burnt. These grass things get it as well, but they’re easily renewed. I see you have bookshelves, too.”
“Peg’s idea,” said Jim with a laugh. “You should see her bedroom!”
Steve smiled mockingly. “What about it, Peg?”
“Go ahead,” she said lightly. “You probably know where it is.”
“Some other time, perhaps.” He offered cigarettes, set the flame o f his lighter to Jim’s cheroot and held it there till the thing was glowing. Then he leaned back again. “I’ve something to tell you, Jim, and I know you too well to wrap it up. The company is aiming to buy up all the plantations on Motu.”
“Is that a fact?” said Peg’s father, unimpressed. Then he sat a little straighter. “I’ve heard those rumours too, but they don’t mean a thing. Did they get about before you went on leave?”
Steve nodded. “Some company officials
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