his watch. 'It's past ten, we'd better get going.'
'I'll have to stay until she comes out from the anaesthetic,' demurred
Haig.
'You can come back for me in the morning.' Bruce hesitated. 'All right
then. Come on, Shermaine.' They drove back to Port Reprieve, sitting
close together in the intimate darkness of the car. They did not speak
until after they had reached the causeway, then Shermaine said:
'He is a good man, your doctor. He is like Paul.'
'Who is Paul?'
'Paul was my husband.'
'Oh.' Bruce was embarrassed. The mention of that name snapped the silken
thread of his mood. Shermaine went on, speaking softly and staring down
the path of the headlights.
'Paul was of the same age. Old enough to have learned understanding -
young men are so cruel.'
'You loved him.' Bruce spoke flatly, trying to keep any trace of
jealousy from his voice.
'Love has many shapes,' she answered. Then, 'Yes, I had begun to love
him. Very soon I would have loved him enough to-' She stopped.
'To what?' Bruce's voice had gone rough as a wood rasp.
Now it starts, he thought, once again I am vulnerable.
'We were only married four months before he - before the fever.'
'So?' Still harsh, his eyes on the road ahead.
want you to know something. I must explain it all to you. It is very
important. Will you be patient with me while I tell you?' There was a
pleading in her voice that he could not resist and his expression
softened.
'Shermaine, you don't have to tell me.'
'I must. I want you to know.' She hesitated a moment, and when she spoke
again her voice had steadied. 'I am an orphan, Bruce. Both my Mama and
Papa were killed by the Germans, in the boi-nbing. I was only a few
months old when it happened, and I do not remember them. I do not
remember anything, not one little thing about them; there is not even a
photograph.' For a
second her voice had gone shaky but again it firmed. 'The nuns took me,
and they were my family. But somehow that is different, not really your
own. I have never had anything that has truly belonged to me, something
of my very own.' Bruce reached out and took her hand; it lay very still
in his grasp. You have now, he thought, you have me for your very own.
'Then when the time came the nuns made the arrangements with Paul
Cartier. He was an engineer with Union Mime du Haut here in the
Congo, a man of position, a suitable man for one of their girls.
'He flew to Brussels and we were married. I was not unhappy, for
although he was old - as old as Doctor Mike yet he was very gentle and
kind, of great understanding. He did not-' She stopped and turned
suddenly to Bruce, gripping his hand with both of hers, leaning towards
him with her face serious and pale in the halfdarkness, the plume of
dark hair falling forward over her shoulder and her voice full of
appeal. 'Bruce, do you understand what I am trying to tell you?' Bruce
