CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Delia awoke suddenly to pain and noise. The pain was in her stomach, agonising, sharp as razor blades, making her gasp and her knees jerk up. The noise was thunder crashing about overhead.

Trying to ignore both, she shifted slightly in the hammock, making it sway. Edmund was lying on her arm with his head against her breast, completely relaxed and sleeping heavily.

Delia smiled into the darkness. It was worth the pins and needles in her arm to have him there, and their physical reunion had been so triumphantly successful in spite of the narrow confines of the hammock that she couldn't help wondering why it hadn't happened that first night in Posto Orlando.

It takes time to forget and forgive. And she supposed he was right and they both had to forget and forgive the fact that instead of trusting each other they had trusted Peter, the so-called best friend who had been jealous of both of them.

A flash of lightning streaked across the sky outside and, through the smoke hole in the roof, temporarily lit the inside of the hut with harsh blue light. Thunder clattered, sounding like hundreds of metal barrels being beaten by steel rods. Pain knifed through Delia's stomach and sickness rose within her.

'I'll have to get up,' she whispered, but Edmund was too fast asleep to hear. She managed to slide her arm from beneath him and then herself and swung out of the hammock.

There wasn't time to get the bundle of the clothing or to put on her boots. Barefoot, she ran out of the hut. Lightning flashed again and she saw the shapes of trees, the bare red brown earth around the hut lit up by the blue light. Into the forest she ran to huddle by a tree to be sick, wishing suddenly she was back in the comparative civilised comfort of Posto Orlando where there were separate lavatories in the huts and wash-hand basins.

By the time the nausea was over she was shaking. Standing up, she reeled and caught hold of a swinging branch of creeper to steady herself. Her head was aching so much that it felt uncontrollable and she could hardly see. She stepped forward to make her way back to the hut and another crippling attack of sickness seized her.

Several times she tried to go back to the hut, only to be sick again, and all around her the thunder boomed and the . lightning flashed. Weak and dizzy, she at last managed to creep back to the hut through the rain which had begun to fall like hundreds of hard grey sticks. Streaming with water. she made her way to the hammock.

'Where have you been?' Edmund slid out of the hammock to stand beside her as she clung to it for support.

'I ... I ... think I have dysentery,' she mumbled. I've been terribly sick and . . . and . . .' She broke off to moan and press her hands against her stomach.

He said nothing but acted quickly, taking one of the thin blankets from the bed and wrapping her into it. He lifted her into the hammock, then eased in beside her and gatherer her against him.

'You've been feeling queasy all day, haven't you?' he said crisply.

'Yes. I woke with a headache and a feeling of sickness.' 'Then why the hell did you come on this trip?' he asked harshly

'1 wanted to ... to be with you ... to go where you were going . . .' she stuttered, her teeth chattering as a chill swept over her. 'For the first time you asked me if I'd like to go with you and I wasn't going to refuse just because I had a niggling headache.'

'You shouldn't have come,' he groaned. 'I should never have let you come. I asked you because I knew that if I didn't Carlo would. I tried to put you off by seeming not, too overjoyed by the idea. I had a feeling something like this would happen.'

'But if I hadn't come we wouldn't have . . .' she began, when pain knifed through her stomach again, her knees jerked up and she gasped.

His arms tightened about her and he let out an oath as if the pain had been his.

'I should have sent you back with Carlo instead of Zanetta,' he grated.

'She's in love with you,' she muttered. Now she was becoming very warm and her head was whirling.

'How do you know she is?' he asked curiously.

'She told me, and I saw the way she greeted you when you arrived at Binauros.'

'That was the abraco, nothing else. Brazilians embrace everyone they know.'

'And she told me you walked with her under the stars at Ipanema,' she moaned, and her voice seemed to be coming from far away. Now she was so hot she felt she was in a sauna bath getting hotter and hotter and hotter. 'And I watched her talking to you at suppertime yesterday. She had no time for anyone else, and you listened to her and talked back.'

'I was being polite. I didn't hear much of what she said,' he retorted with a laugh. 'I was too busy watching you. Anyone would have thought you and Carlo were long-lost

Several times she tried to go back to the hut, only to be sick again, and all around her the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed. Weak and dizzy, she at last managed to creep back to the hut through the rain which had begun to fall like hundreds of hard grey sticks. Streaming with water, she made her way to the hammock.

'Where have you been?' Edmund slid out of the hammock to stand beside her as she clung to it for support.

'I ... I ... think I have dysentery,' she mumbled. 'I've been terribly sick and . . . and . . .' She broke off to moan and press her hands against her stomach.

He said nothing but acted quickly, taking one of the thin blankets from the bed and wrapping her into it. He lifted her into the hammock, then eased in beside her and gathered her against him.

'You've been feeling queasy all day, haven't you?' he said

crisply.

'Yes. I woke with a headache and a feeling of sickness.'

'Then why the hell did you come on this trip?' he asked harshly.

'I wanted to ... to be with you ... to go where you were going . . .' she stuttered, her teeth chattering as a chill swept over her. 'For the first time you asked me if I'd like to go with you and I wasn't going to refuse just because I had a niggling headache.'

. 'You shouldn't have come,' he groaned. 'I should never have let you come. I asked you because I knew that if I didn't Carlo would. I tried to put you off by seeming not too overjoyed by the idea. I had a feeling something like this would happen.'

'But if I hadn't come, we wouldn't have . . .' she began, when pain knifed through her stomach again, her knees jerked up and she gasped.

His arms tightened about her and he let out an oath as if the pain had been his.

'I should have sent you back with Carlo instead of Zan-etta,' he grated.

'She's in love with you,' she muttered. Now she was becoming very warm and her head was whirling. 'How do you know she is?' he asked curiously. 'She told me, and I saw the way she greeted you when you arrived at Binauros.'

'That was the abraco, nothing else. Brazilians embrace everyone they know.'

'I was being polite. I didn't hear much of what she said,' he retorted with a laugh. 'I was too busy watching you. Anyone would have thought you and Carlo were long-lost friends who had just found each other again. He hogged all your attention that night—he even had the nerve to kiss your hand after escorting you to the sleeping hut.'

'How do you know he did? You weren't there,' she challenged weakly. She was feeling that she might burst into flames any minute and her mind kept blanking out.

'Yes, I was right behind you.'

'I thought you'd gone somewhere with Zanetta,' she

mumbled.

'No. I talked to Carlo for a while after you'd gone into the hut.'

'He's very kind.'

'And I'm not?' he queried dryly

'Not to me. You're kind to everyone else, but not to me,' she mumbled, twisting her head about. 'Is Zanetta the reason why you don't want to go back to England? If she is I'll do it if it's what you really want. Is it? Is it?'

The palm of his hand came against her forehead. It was blessedly cool.

'I'm so hot, Edmund, and thirsty. Please get me something to drink and tell me if it's what you want me to do,' she mumbled. 'You're not making sense, darling,' he murmured. 'You're feverish and don't know what you're saying.'

'Yes, I do.' It was suddenly very important to get this particular message over to him. Now that Peter was no longer between them they could communicate directly with each other. 'I have to know, have to know before I go back. Tell me, please tell me!'

'Tell you What?' he asked gently.

'Tell me if you want me to go ahead with arrangements for a divorce so that you can marry Zanetta. Oh, Edmund, where are you going?'

'To get something to give you for that pain and also to bring down your temperature. I won't be long.'

Delia lay back in the hammock. It seemed to be whirling round and round in the air. Everything was black before her eyes and the thunder was inside her head, banging and clattering about. She felt cool fingers on her arm and raised her head, trying to see who was touching her. Her head fell back out of control and she lost consciousness.

When she came round she was being carried from the hut, out of darkness into blinding brilliance of sunlight. Realising she was on a stretcher, she stared hazily up at the hot blue sky, seeing the curving fringed leaves of tall banana palms wheeling by. The movement stopped and the stretcher was laid on the ground. A face floated into view above her. It was pale walnut brown with sparkling black eyes and a white smile under a drooping moustache. Carlo.

'Bom dia, Delia. Too bad you are sick, but I'm glad you are awake. Do you think you can climb up into the plane with my help?' he said.

'Where's Edmund?' she asked weakly.. She wasn't as hot as she had been. In fact she was. soaked with sweat and she was still wrapped in the cotton blanket. Just as well, she thought with a weary flicker of humour, because she hadn't a stitch of clothing on her otherwise.

'I'm here.' Edmund's voice was deep and soft and his lingers were hard and lean as they closed round hers. His face floated into view, long-jawed and lean, tanned to a golden brown and blurred with a stubble of brown beard. Nut his eyes were tired with shadows under them, very tired. He tires easily. He needs a rest. Luiz had said that to her, and it was true.

'Edmund, you should rest,' she whispered. 'You're tired,' 'I will when I've done what I have to do,' he replied.

'Right now we're going to fly to Posto Orlando and get you into a proper bed so you can sleep yourself well. Let me help you to sit up.'

Moving was an effort and her head wasn't very clear, but he put his arm about her shoulders and heaved her into a sitting position.

'I feel awful,' she said with a little laugh. 'Everything keeps coming and going.'

'That's because you're doped,' he explained. 'I gave you an injection last night because you were in a lot of pain. You'll be fine when you've slept it off. Now I'm going to lift you up and pass you to Carlo who's in the plane and he'll put you in the back seat.'

He lifted her and the transfer to Carlo's arms was made far more easily than she expected. Soon she was settled in the seat, the safety belt was fastened around her and Edmund sat down beside her.

The plane took off and for a brief hazy moment she saw the villagers waving farewell. She would have liked to have said good-bye properly to them, especially to the women who had been so kind to her the previous day, but she was too dopey to even raise a hand. Then the clearing had gone and there was only the limitless green jungle spread below. It wavered before her eyes, her eyelids drooped and once again she slid into unconsciousness.

She didn't really come round until a few hours later. Opening her eyes, she found she was on the truckle bed in the small dark room which she had shared with Edmund at Posto Orlando. She knew it was night because the light was on. She felt clean and neat and lifting the edge of the sheet which covered her she saw that she was wearing a clean cotton nightdress from the bag which she had left behind, when she had gone to Binauros.

The sound of paper rustling made her look round. At the small table Edmund was sitting. He was writing in an exercise book and he was frowning as he concentrated.

Tobacco smoke coiled in the air from the cigarette in his mouth and hung in layers in the heavy still air of the room.

'What are you doing?' Delia asked, her voice a thin thread of sound, and he turned to look at her.

'Hello,' he said, smiling slightly. 'So you've come back. I'm writing up some of my report. How do you feel?' He left the chair and came to sit on the edge of the bed and look down at her critically. He didn't look as tired as he had when she had last been conscious of seeing him.

'I feel very thin, as if I have no insides, like after I lost the baby,' she replied slowly, still not quite in control of her tongue or her thoughts.

'What baby?' His voice was sharp, making her lift her eyelids which had begun to droop again. He was leaning forward, his eyes dark and incredulous. His face seemed to have gone very pale. Delia realised what she had said and wished for a moment she could unsay it. But it was done now and there was no chance of retreating from the subject because his hands were on her shoulders and he was saying in a hoarse yet commanding voice, 'Delia, you've got to tell me. What baby?'

'Ours,' she whispered, her eyes wide as she saw the shock go through him. Raising her hand, she touched his face urgently. 'Oh, Edmund, I'm sorry I lost it. It was premature and it lived only a few minutes . . .'

'Why didn't you tell me?' he interrupted her harshly, and his eyes were a hard burning blue as he glared at her. 'I should have been told. I had a right to know.'

'I ... I ... tried,' she said, saw an expression of scepticism twist across his face and cried out, 'I did, God knows I did!

I wanted to tell you. Oh, please believe me—I couldn't find you. No one knew where you'd gone. The Red Cross didn't know. The institute where you'd done that research didn't know. They could only give me an address in Hampshire, so I wrote there. Oh, I tried, Edmund. I did really . . .'

'Peter knew where I was,' he said grimly.

'I know, but I've told you already he wouldn't tell me where you were. He said he couldn't betray your confidence, that I had to communicate with you through him, and after I'd found out that he wanted me to divorce you so he could marry me I didn't trust him anymore. I stopped seeing him and I didn't tell him I was going to have a baby. Did you tell him he wasn't to tell me where you were?'

Edmund shook his head slowly from side to side. His face was drawn as if he were in great pain.. His hands left her shoulders, he raked one through his hair and stood up to walk away from the bed to stand with his back to her, shoulders slumped.

'No, I didn't tell him that,' he muttered. 'All I ever said to him was that if you wanted a divorce I would agree to it and that he was to let me know if there was any change.'

He swung round suddenly and again he glared at her accusingly. 'If I'd known, if someone had told me about the child I'd have come back to be with you, to look after you so that it would have lived. That's what you meant the other day when I asked you if you'd been ill recently and you said "in a way", isn't it?'

She nodded, too weak and too scared to speak. She had never expected he would react to the knowledge of the child in this way. He drew a long shuddering breath and glared at her, and once more he looked as if he hated her.

'And then you had the nerve to say it was none of my business,' he said harshly. 'You dared to say that, knowing the child was mine, was part of me. Why didn't you tell me about it when I asked you ?'

'I ... I couldn't. You'd been so hostile the day before and I didn't want you to think I was using the fact that I'd had your child to ... to get you back,' she whispered the last words and added forlornly, 'I didn't realise you'd care so much.'

''Not care? What the hell do you think I'm made of? Stone?' he demanded hoarsely. 'I'm a human being. I have feelings which can be hurt just like yours. You left me out of something important to both of us. You didn't trust me enough to tell me.' His mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. 'But maybe it wasn't important to you. Maybe you wanted to lose it. . .'

He turned away, opened the door and went out into the frog-croaking, cricket-chirping darkness. The door slammed behind him. For a few moments Delia lay blinking at the electric light, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks. Then with a little moan she turned on her side and the blessed darkness of sleep once again blanketed her mind.

When she woke again she knew it was morning because pale saffron sunlight was shafting through the slates of the heavy shutters and she could hear the parakeets squabbling as they perched on the roof of the hut. From the washroom came the sound of water gurgling away down the. outlet of the wash basin, followed by the sound of someone whistling.

She looked across at the other bed. It was unmade and had obviously been slept in. On the end of it. was Edmund's travelling bag, unzipped with clothes tumbling out of it, creased shirts, ragged shorts and creased cotton trousers, the high fashion of the jungle.

Delia smiled slightly at the thought and felt a sudden longing to take the clothes to the river and wash them as she had seen the women washing clothes at the village she had visited two days previously. Pushing back the sheet, she swung her legs out of bed and stood up. She felt weak but not dizzy anymore and her temperature was definitely down.

She stepped over to the other bed and sat down on it, pulling the bag towards her. She began to take clothes out of the bag and examine them. They were really in a terrible state, she thought, torn and dirty, and some of them should be thrown away.

'Seems I can't turn my back on you for a minute without you doing something you shouldn't be doing,' Edmund's voice rasped angrily as he came out of the washroom and saw her, and she gave him a wary glance as she remembered how angry he had been the night before. 'Get back into bed at once,' he ordered curtly. 'You're not fit to be moving about yet.'

'Yes, I am,' she retorted, tilting her chin at him. 'Your clothes are in an awful mess.'

'So what?' he challenged, standing over her with his hands on his hips. He was wearing only jeans which were very faded and so shrunken that they stretched tightly over his lean hips and across his flat stomach. Above the belt at his waist his skin was ringed by insect bites and the hair on his chest was still damp from his wash. Under the tanned taut skin his "pectoral muscles made ridges and his collarbones gleamed whitely. Higher up the curve of his mouth mocked her and his eyes were cold, like chips of blue ice.

One hand left his hip, reached down and twitched the shirt she was holding from her hands. He tossed it towards the open bag.

'Leave them alone,' he ordered brusquely. 'You don't have to do anything about them.'

'But as your wife I should look after your clothes and see that they're neat and clean,' she objected miserably.

'As my wife you should have made me welcome when I came home sixteen months ago,' he said in that soft stinging way he had and told me about our child. Now will you get back into bed, Mrs. Talbot.' His face was hard and unforgiving.

'Oh, I wish I hadn't told you,' she cried. 'I didn't mean to hurt you,' she added. 'I'm sorry.'

'I seem to remember making a similar appeal, to you once,' he jeered. 'Now get into bed.'

'All right.' She stood up and went over to the other bed. 'But that shirt hasn't any buttons on it.'

'Hardly surprising, since you pulled them off the other night,' he replied dryly.

Lying down and pulling the sheet over her, she watched him take the least creased and least dirty shirt from the bag.

'Do you know what was wrong with my insides and why I was sick?' she asked.

'It was either food poisoning combined with dysentery or you ate something which disagreed with you, maybe the wild boar meat we had at Binauros. It was pretty fatty,' he said coolly as he pulled on the shirt. 'Do you feel hungry?'

'Not yet.'

More memories were awakening now, of the night they had spent together in the same hammock. Had it meant nothing after all? Had it been a purely physical act involving nothing of the emotions as far as he was concerned, forgotten almost as soon as it was over?

Watching him rolling up his clothing and stuffing it into the bag, she wished he would come and sit on the bed beside her, smile at her, take her hand in his and kiss her.

He seemed to be packing everything he owned, including the book in which he had been writing last night, and when the bag was zipped up he locked it. Then he turned and came to sit beside her on the bed.

He did take her hand in his, but it was only to feel her pulse. He didn't smile at her but watched the second hand on his wrist watch. When the minute was up he felt her brow impersonally before getting to his feet again. Disappointment because he hadn't lingered beside her washed through her, making her feel weepy again.

'You seem all right now, but you're bound to feel weak until you've had something to eat,', he said in his cool crisp doctor's voice. 'Go easy on the food at first. Not too much of the rice and beans. The manioc gruel should be all right, though. Anyway, it won't be for long. You're flying to Rio tomorrow, back to civilisation and all mod. cons.'

'Won't you be going with me?' she asked, sitting up as she felt a chill of fear go through her.

'No,' he said curtly, and turning' away lifted his travelling bag with one hand and his doctor's bag with the other. 'I'm going to Fenenal with Manoel. Carlo is flying us there. We set off in about five minutes.'

'But why are you going back there?' she cried. 'Word was brought to Luiz yesterday when he was still at Binauros that there's been an outbreak of influenza among the tribes on Fenenal. Not being used to that type of disease, they're dying of it,' Edmund replied grimly. 'When Luiz flew back here from Binauros with Manoel and Rita he asked me to go and do what I can for the tribes.'

'Let me come with you,' she said urgently, slipping out of the bed and padding over to him on bare feet. 'Please, Edmund,' she pleaded, putting a hand on his chest and pleating the cotton of the shirt between her fingers. 'Let me come.'

'No.' His voice was hard and cold. 'You're going on the Air Force plane which comes tomorrow with supplies. It's all arranged. Rita is going too. She wants to see her children and she's invited you to stay with her so you can in over from your sickness. You need a rest and some good food to build you up.'

'But you need a rest too,' she argued. 'Aren't there any other doctors? What about Dr Mireilles? Couldn't she go?'

'She is going. She's here now and they're all waiting for me,' he said coolly. 'You'll be better off with Rita by the sea in Rio.'

'But I want to be with you, not her,' she insisted. The knowledge that Zanetta was going, would be with him when she couldn't be with him, was awakening that awful distorting jealousy.

'Well, I don't want you with me,' he replied harshly, pushing her away. 'Now go back to bed.'

Delia staggered slightly, catching her breath as pain sliced though her in reaction to his cruel retort. At once he dropped his bag and stepped towards her, taking hold of her arms.

'I've said it all wrong again, haven't I?' he groaned. 'Listen. I have to go, you know that. I'm a doctor and I have, lo try and heal people, any people, anywhere. It would be the same if we lived in England. I would have to go when I was called. I have to leave you.'

'But it's different here,' she argued. 'I could come with you. Oh, if you really loved me you'd let me come with you. But you don't love me. You never have.'

'There isn't time to discuss that now,' he replied, letting go of her. '-I can't risk taking you. You're not better yet and you could pick up anything in your, weakened state, and I'm not going to have that on my conscience. As for your accusation about me not loving you, I can retort in kind. If you loved me you'd let me go without making such a damned fuss.'. He gave a mirthless crack of laughter. 'We seem to have gone through all this before, don't we? It's the same argument which landed us into marriage.'

He picked up his bags again and made for the door. Delia followed him.

'When will I see you again?' she asked.

'I don't know. Maybe next week. I'll go to Rio as soon as I've done what I can.'

'I ... I'm supposed to fly back to London next Wednesday,' she muttered. 'I have a job to do, too, you know.'

'I'll try to be in Rio before you go,' he said tautly, not looking at her. 'But I'm not promising anything. Nothing is straightforward in this country and time is of no account,' He opened the door and gave her -a long level look. 'You know, if you really love me, Delia, you'll wait for me in Rio,' he added.

Ten minutes later, as she lay dry-eyed and sunk in the depths of misery on the truckle bed, Delia heard the humming sound of Carlo's plane when it flew over the clearing. Soon afterwards there was the sound of footsteps on the verandah of the hut. Knuckles rapped on the door and it opened slowly. Rita appeared and closed the door behind her and came to the bedside. She seemed lovely as usual and elegant even in her 'jungle' wear of cotton pants and cotton shirt, but her big brown eyes were full of tears.

'Ah, how pale you are, and sad-looking,' she murmured as she sat on the side of the bed. 'But you do not cry.' Even as she spoke great tears welled in her eyes, slid over the edge of her lids and down her smooth golden cheeks. 'Always I cry considerably when Manoel goes away. Manoel does too. But you do not cry and Edmund looks so cold and self-contained,

Yet it is best not to speak to him, for he snarls at anyone who does. Will you snarl at me too? Is that how you show you are dying a little inside because you have said goodbye to someone you love very much ?'

Delia shook her head,' tried to smile and couldn't.

'I asked him to take me with him and he wouldn't,' she said in a small, miserable little voice. 'He said he didn't want me with him and I know why. It's because Zanetta has gone too.'

'But this is nonsense you are talking,' said Rita, her tears suddenly forgotten. She put out a hand and pushed Delia's hair back from her head and frowned a little. 'Strange. You have no fever, so why do you talk nonsense?'

'It isn't nonsense, Edmund doesn't love me and . . .'

'You say that after he worried so much when you were ill, blaming himself for letting you go to that village? Oh, can't you see he -wouldn't let you go with him today because, he cares too much about you? He doesn't want you to be ill.'

'He'd be Like that about anyone who had been ill or who is ill, insisted Delia. 'He doesn't love me and he never has. He was in love with me for a while because he thought I was pretty and we had fun together. But he doesn't love me. He 1oves his work more.'

Rita gave her a sidelong assessing glance, then said with a knowing sort of nod, 'I understand what you mean. Manoel is the same. But what man isn't? Especially men who have a calling or a profession. And they assume we understand. "We'll be 'back.' they say.

"When?" we ask.

"Oh, this week, next week, some time," they say. "What shall we do?" we say. 'Wait,' they reply.' Rita laughed. 'Isn't that the way it she asked, smiling down at Delia.

'Yes, but. . .' began Delia, and found Rita's forefinger pressed against her lips.

'Not another word until you are fed and are feeling stronger. You're depressed because he has left you while you are weak and not thinking sensibly. After some gruel and more sleep you'll feel much better, and tomorrow you and I

will fly away too, to Rio where we shall enjoy ourselves while we're waiting.' She stood up and having a second .thought she slanted a glance down at Delia again. 'You should not worry about Zanetta,' she said quietly. 'She has nothing that Edmund needs. You have. And now I will go to fetch you some food.'

Although cheered by Rita's remarks, Delia was still worried because Edmund had gone away from her while he was in an unforgiving frame of mind after hearing about the loss of their child. She couldn't help remembering that he had left her once before after a quarrel and she had worried continually in case he would come back to her. He had come back and she hadn't been there. She had been out for the day with another man.

Groaning with regret, she writhed on the hot bed thinking how much Peter was to blame for her estrangement from Edmund. Yet they had been offered the second honeymoon made possible by Luis Santos and Ben Davies. Was she going to let jealousy of Zanetta ruin it? Was she going to let a third person come between herself and Edmund again?

No, she mustn't. She must learn from her past mistakes. She must put Zanetta out of her mind and trust Edmund. He had said he would see her again in Rio if she waited for him, and no matter how long it took him to come there she must be there waiting, in the same way that Rita would be waiting for Manoel. She must trust him and he would trust her. .

Next morning Posto Orlando shrank to a series of dots beneath the silvery wing of the Air Force plane and soon the village was hidden from sight by the masses of green trees.

Delia blinked back tears. The parting from Luis Santos had been a sad one. Members of the tribe which lived in the village had given her parting presents; a comb beautifully made from pine needles, a hand-woven headband, a dainty basket all hand-made and fashioned with care, they were worth so much more than the toffees, cigarettes and soap which she had given them.

It was over, her expedition to the jungle, and she wasn't sure whether it had been successful or not. It was true she had found Edmund again, but nothing had been resolved between them. She' wasn't sure yet if he loved her. She would have to wait until she saw him again, and considering his frame of mind when he had left for Fenenal. she couldn't be sure of that either.

At Brasilia she and Rita arrived in time to board a regular scheduled flight for Rio. Within a few hours they were being greeted by Rita's sister Maria Martinez, who had brought Rita's children with her.

The meeting between Rita and the three golden-skinned, black-haired, black-eyed boys was ecstatic. They all piled into the small car which Maria Martinez drove and were soon speeding along the wide road which linked the airport to the beautiful city of shimmering slim white towers set between high humpy, green mountains and the turquoise ocean.

As they approached the city the traffic increased. Several Lines of small cars all seemed to compete with each other to get wherever they were going first. High buses with wheels revolving at the window level of the little car in which Delia was travelling squeezed between the lanes. Maria seemed to charge from red traffic light to red traffic light and changed

to a long white house which had a red-tiled roof and curving Moorish arches over its windows and doors. She stopped the car beside a big white Cadillac.

'This is my parents' home where we will stay until the men come back from Fenenal,' said Rita to Delia. 'As you can see, it's big enough for several families.'

A little overawed by the beauty of the house and the obvious wealth of its owners, Delia followed Rita 'and the chattering little boys through one of the arches into a square patio with black and white stone mosaic floor where exotic flowers bloomed, their colours brilliant against the white walls..

From the patio they went through a door made from wire mesh into a cool hallway where the black and white mosaic floor was continued. Huge pottery jars crammed with greenery and flowers were set about the floor and black wrought iron screens-set under more curving archways gave glimpses into expensively furnished rooms.

A dark-skinned woman was waiting in the hall. She was dressed in severe black and white, but her smile was warm and cheerful.

'This is Dulva, my mother's housekeeper,' Rita said, and lifter further conversation with the dark woman added, 'My mother is away with my father right now but will be back at the end of next week for the Carnival. You have heard of our Carnival, Delia? It goes on for four days and four nights before Ash Wednesday. It starts with a procession of dancers and musicians. There are parades, song competitions and masked balls. It's a pity that you'll miss it. But perhaps Edmund won't be back by Wednesday and you won't leave then. Perhaps he'll be back later and you'll see the Carnival together.'

After the humid heat of the jungle and of the outdoors in

planes with an utter ruthlessness and disregard for other drivers which caused Delia to flinch.

'There is only one way to survive in the Rio traffic,' said Rita as she noticed Delia's consternation. 'You have to be aggressive. You are frightened?' 'Terrified,' gasped Delia.

'You should see it at rush hour,' said Rita, laughing. 'Isn't driving in London like this?'

'I would say we're a little more controlled,' said. Delia, not wanting to appear too critical. 'Whatever is that conductor banging on the outside of the bus for?'

'They all do it. It means, "get out of the way, we're coming. Don't say we didn't warn you." 'The bus drivers think they own the roads,' said Rita.

At last they left the arterial roadway and delved right into the city down a long avenida as straight as a beam of light between high buildings. The sidewalks were thronged with pedestrians, most of them shoppers. Soon they were on another wide highway which took them to the south side of the city and on to a narrow avenue which wound along the coast beside the sea.

On one side the ocean slid restlessly up and down stone slabs which formed the foundation of the road. On the other stretched a smooth emerald green golf course. The road turned a corner and there was another view of humpy green mountains and a curving yellow beach on to which glittering white surf pounded incessantly.

The avenue divided into two wide lanes flanked by straight-stemmed umbrellas of palm trees. On the inland side elegant houses were set among tailored green lawns behind low white walls.

Maria changed gear and turned' the little car through an opening in the white wall and drove up a winding driveway

Rio the air-conditioning of the house was refreshing. Leading Delia up a staircase with a wrought iron banister, Rita showed her into a pretty guest room with a double bed and dark antique Portuguese furniture and a view of the shimmering blue ocean through its window.

'Take' your time to do what you wish,' Rita told her. 'There is a bathroom through that door. Bathe, wash your hair, rest on the bed. We shall dine early tonight because we haven't eaten much today. I shall come and tell you when the meal is ready.'

Soaking in scented warm water in the luxuriously appointed bathroom, Delia thought of Edmund sweating it out in the jungle and being bitten by mosquitoes. In comparison with living conditions in the jungle this beautiful house was like heaven.

After bathing she unpacked the clothes from the suitcase which she had left in Brasilia when she had flown to the jungle. It contained the dresses and skirts she had brought with her. She chose a Paisley patterned skirt in greens and blues. Gathered at the waist and with a flounce round the calf-length hem, it went well with the white cotton full- sleeved, scooped-neck gypsy-style blouse she was wearing.

But as she gazed at her reflection she wasn't pleased with ' her appearance. She was too pale and too thin. She complained about how she looked to Rita when they sat at a long table set with a beautiful hand-crocheted white cloth and gleaming antique silver cutlery to eat a dish of turkey and ham which Rita called peru a brasiliera, followed by a dessert of preserved tropical fruits served with a soft white cheese.

'A. few days here and all that will soon be changed,' said Riltawith her kind smile. 'We shall loll about in the sunshine, swim in the surf and loll about in the sun again. We shall eat well and perhaps do a little sightseeing and visiting. I shall take you up Corcovado to see the huge statue of Christ there. We shall ride on the cable car to the top of Sugar Loaf mountain. Oh, we shall do everything one should do on a visit to Rio and before we know it Manoel and Edmund will be here with us.'

And so for the next few days Delia combined the pleasant life of a wealthy surburbanite living on the outskirts of Rio with that of a tourist, and gradually she put on a little weight so that her body became softly curved again and her skin acquired a warm peach-coloured bloom. Rita was true to her word and took her to see all the sights, including some of the favellas, the numerous shacks clinging to the hillsides where the poor people lived.

'Manoel would not approve if you saw one side only of the way of life in our country,' Rita explained with a laugh, as they drove down a twisting lane where there was a magnificent view but where the sheds in which people lived clung by friction only to the rocks and where there was no water, no electricity and no plumbing.

With the passing of the week-end Delia began to grow a little tense again. Would Edmund come before Wednesday or even on Wednesday? In the night silence of her room she worried, and to take her mind off the worry she began to write her articles from the notes she had taken while she had been in the jungle. Monday and Tuesday passed. The temperature was climbing every day and with it the humidity. Only in the house or in the sea was there comfort. Wednesday took its course. In the morning Delia and Ritawent into Rio to shop in the pleasant Rua do Ouvidor where automobiles were not permitted. They had lunch in a huge restaurant on nearby Rua Goncalves Dias and then drove back to the house for siesta.

Trying to hide her tenseness, Delia went to the beach as usual after siesta and tried to forget her anxiety by playing in the surf with the three boys. When she returned to the house she entered hopefully, half expecting to be greeted by Edmund and Manoel. But no one had come and there had been no phone calls. The evening dragged by as she tried to be interested in some friends Rita and Maria had invited for dinner. One of the young men played the guitar and sang a song, and when she went to bed its refrain—My days are spent in sadness and hope—repeated itself over and over again in her mind. So her days were spent in sadness because Edmund was away and in hope that he might come back.

But Wednesday had come and gone and he wasn't back. She had waited. She had let the flight to England go and now she would have to cable Ben Davies and tell him why she hadn't returned. She would kave to stay here and wait as Rita was waiting.

Next day seemed hotter and more humid than ever.

'We shall, go up to Petropolis and visit Manoel's parents. It is in the mountains and you will find it cooler there and more to your liking,' announced Rita. 'And it will help to make the time pass for me as for you.'

'But supposing Edmund and Manoel come back while we aren't here? Edmund might think I've gone back to England,' said Delia anxiously. Once before she had gone out for the day and Edmund had returned to find her gone. Never would she forget the consequences.

'Dulva will tell them where we have gone and when we shall be back,' replied Rita serenely, and added with her bright smile, 'And for a change they can wait for us. It will do no harm.'

Delia pushed her misgivings to the back of her mind determined to enjoy the outing to yet another part of this land-without-limit. The morning, though hot, was sunless as they drove along the Avenida Brasil out of Rio past a mixture of javellas, small industries and shops. The road passed over biaxado or lowlands where banana palms grew. They Mopped to buy bananas from a stall and Rita introduced Delia for the first time to the tiny fruit she called banana de ouro.

After a while the green wall of some high mountains reared up through the mist, the Organ mountains. They passed through a tunnel and came out into sunshine on the other side of the mountains. Trim cottages lined the road, casas de verao, summer houses of superb design belonging to the wealthy.

Yet the home of Manoel's parents was simple. It seemed to grow out of the ground like an old English cottage. While three boys floated in the swimming pool Delia and Rita sipped caxaca—lemon juice stiffened with sugar-cane alcohol.

The garden was full of fruit trees, cool and shady.

'They stayed the night and most of the next day, Manoel's mother pressing them to stay because she wanted news of Manoel and loved the company of her grandchildren. They left half-way through the afternoon, driving back the way they had come, dipping down into the city as lights were going on the high buildings, pricking the tall dark pinnacles with diamonds, while the rays of the setting sun, slanting from behind the humped back of a mountain gilded the frothy cumulus clouds which had built up over the sea after a day of great heat.

In the pleasantly cool house beside the sea Delia went up to her room. Another two days "had gone by and still Edmund hadn't come. How long would she have to wait? Sighing. she slipped out of the dress she had worn all day and went to the closet to choose one to wear for the evening.

'I have asked Dulva. She says no one came and there was only one phone call, for you.' 'For me? Then it must have been from Edmund.' 'No,' Rita shook her head. 'It was a woman. She asked if you were here and hung up while Dulva was telling her that you had gone away for two days.'

'But I don't know any woman in Rio apart from you,' cried Delia.

'Could it have been someone calling from the airline about your reservation?' suggested Manoel.

'Surely someone like that would have left a message,' mused Carlo, who was frowning thoughtfully. 'Did the" woman speak in English or Portuguese?'

'Portuguese. How else would Dulva understand her?' retorted Rita.

'With a foreign accent?' persisted Carlo. 'How do I know?' Rita made a gesture of helplessness. 'Ask Dulva,' said Carlo. 'If there was no foreign accent, if the woman was Brazilian and from Rio, it's my guess that she was Zanetta.'

'Zanetta?'

They all stared at him as if he were crazy. 'Situ,' he replied, nodding at them, his dark eyes very bright. 'She is very tricky, that one, very tricky. I suggest that we phone her home to find out if she-is back. She and Edmund left Fenenal together, so maybe they are still together. Ah, forgive me, Delia,' he added quickly as he saw her flinch and go pale. 'I speak my mind without thinking.. I'm sure everything will be all right and that there is per-fectly good reason why Edmund didn't come here. We have to find out somehow where he has gone, so I suggest we start with Zanetta.'

'Then I will go at once and phone her,' said Rita. 'Manoel, please make Delia a drink. She is a little upset, I think.'

She chose a long one, black, white and green printed cotton with a full wide skirt edged with a frill and a sleeveless top which plunged to a deep revealing V both at the front and the back.

Wearing high-heeled strapped sandals and wondering why she had dressed up, she went slowly downstairs. Voices speaking excitedly in Portuguese were coming from the direction of the sola—men's voices which sounded familiar. Her heart thumping with anticipation, Delia went towards the room and walked straight into Rita, her face flushed and her eyes shining, who was coming out in a rush.

'Ah, I was coming for you. See who is here!' she cried excitedly, and gestured to the two men who were standing in the middle of the sala drinking from tall glasses. Manoel and Carlo.

'Where is Edmund?' asked Delia.

'Ah, Delia, it is good to see you.' Carlo set down his glass and came straight to her to gather her into his arms and give her the abrago. 'How I wish you weren't married to that . cold, tough devil. of a doctor,' he said teasingly, smiling down at her. 'I would like very much to marry you myself.' His face grew serious. 'The truth is we do not know now where he is. We thought he would be here with you. He and Zanetta left us on Wednesday morning to fly to Brasilia and catch a plane for here. He was anxious for some reason to be in Rio before Wednesday evening. We cannot think what might have happened. Even if he could not get a plane at Brasilia which would have brought him on Wednesday he should have arrived here yesterday.'

'Did anyone come yesterday while we were away?' Delia asked Rita, her throat suddenly dry and her hands clammy with fear.

'I'll come with you to the phone,' said Carlo suddenly, striding after Rita. 'If you don't have any luck with Zanetta I might.'

Sitting on the' edge of one of the armchairs in the sala, Delia sipped the drink Manoel had made for her and tried to listen to all he was telling her about the 'flu epidemic on Fenenal. But the words slid past her ears. All she could think of was that Edmund had travelled with Zanetta on Wednesday and had not arrived, and that could mean that he had gone away somewhere with the Brazilian woman.

Rita and Carlo came back into the room. Carlo was muttering in Portuguese and Rita was looking very worried. Delia sprang to her feet.

'Did you speak to Zanetta? Was she there? Oh, tell me, what did she say?'

'Yes, she was there,' sighed Rita, sinking down in a chair and taking the glass Manoel handed to her. 'She doesn't know where Edmund is. She hasn't seen him since yesterday morning. It seems they were unable to fly to Rio from Brasilia on Wednesday because the plane they should have taken was grounded due to engine trouble. They came on Thursday morning as soon as they could.'

'And was it she who phoned here asking for Delia?' asked Manoel.

'Sim,' Rita nodded. 'She said she offered to phone for Edmund. He had tried twice and couldn't get through. He wanted to know if Delia was here . . .'

'And she told him all she thought he should know,' put in Carlo viciously. 'That Delia had gone away.'

'He would think I'd gone to England on Wednesday,' said Delia woodenly. 'He would think I hadn't waited for him.'

'Zanetta said she invited him to go to her home to stay there, but he refused. She says he just walked away from her and she hasn't seen him since,' said Rita. 'Where do you think he would go? What would he do?'

'Find out how soon he could fly to England too,' said Manoel simply. 'That's what I would do. He could be in London now if there was a flight out yesterday.'

'And if he could get on it,' said Carlo.

'Well, how do we find out?' asked Delia, looking at each of them in turn.

'We phone all the international airlines having either direct . flights to Britain or connecting flights. There are several ways he could have gone, via New York or via Georgetown,' said Carlo. 'No, we won't do that, we'll go to the airport to find out. Some of them won't give out information about passengers over the phone. If you will lend me a car I'll drive Delia out there now. Will you come?' he asked Delia.

'Yes, yes, of course.' She glanced at her watch. 'There's a flight due to take off in about three-quarters of an hour, the same one I should have taken on Wednesday. If he wasn't able to get on a flight yesterday he might be going on that.'

'Then we must hurry,' said Carlo.

They went in Maria's green Volkswagen. Sitting tensely In-side Carlo, Delia stared out at the heaving mass of dark' ocean as they drove along the narrow avenue which led to the city.

'Why do you think Zanetta did what she did?' she asked.

'Women in love, women who are jealous, do strange things,' said Carlo lightly. 'She's in love with Edmund and jealous of you and she found herself suddenly with a card to play. She knew he was anxious to reach Rio before you left for England and so she thought that if she could show him

you had left before he arrived, that you hadn't cared enough to wait for him, she might be able to part him from you once and for all. You see, he had been saying before you turned up at Posto Orlando that he might stay in Brazil. She took a chance, but it didn't come off. He walked away from her. That should prove something to you.' 'What?'

'That he isn't in love with her,' said Carlo dryly.

'I suppose so,' Delia sighed.

The traffic was heavy going into the city and as they swept round a wide square Delia noticed that the stands had been erected where people would sit to watch the Carnival parades go by. Round the beautiful Praca Paris they drove on to the Avenida Atlantica beside Copacabana beach. People sat on benches either watching the traffic go by or turned the other way to watch the glittering surf. Here and there on the sand light glowed where candles had been lit and placed in . little hollows as part of the voodoo ritual of macumba.

Although Carlo drove fast it was almost time for the takeoff of the plane bound for London when they arrived at the international airport at Galeao. Carlo let Delia off at the entrance to the departure lounge and drove away to park the car. Dashing through the doorway, Delia went straight to the desk of the British airline to ask if Edmund was booked on the flight which was taking off, explaining that she was his wife. The ticket agent looked through the list of passengers and shook his head.

'Could he have gone yesterday?' she asked.

'Not with us,' he replied, and told her the names of two other airlines with which Edmund could have flown direct to London on the previous day.

To her relief Carlo appeared and together they went to the desk of the other airlines. It took a while and a certain amount of bullying on the part of Carlo, but at last they found out that Edmund had boarded a plane flying to London on Thursday evening

Delia sagged with dismay.

'Oh, what shall I do now?' she exclaimed.

'You could stay and watch the Carnival with me,' suggested Carlo with a smile. 'But I think it would the best if you find out now how soon you can fly to England too.'

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