LEWIS AWOKE, startled by a knock on his door. He remembered dimly that he had seen the light of a dull dawn spread over the valley. Then he must have fallen asleep, and he had thought that he would never sleep. Now, in bright sunlight, he strove painfully to disentangle reality from the fantastic events of a nightmare.
The pain was actual. He had a monstrous headache. The knocking, too, was actual.
A servant opened the door and came in with a tray; a superior type of servant in a gleaming white mess jacket.
“Good morning, señor.” He spoke in English with an American accent. “I have brought you some breakfast. Señor Benevides instructed that you were not to be called too early.”
Lewis looked at his watch. Eleven! He threw back the bed-clothes as if he had heard a fire-alarm.
“There is no haste.” The servant smiled affably. “When you have had your coffee, your bath will be ready. Señor Benevides sends his excuses. He is away on business till one o’clock. I am to report that the doctor has been and Don Julian is a little better. The Señora Page is sleeping late. The day is very beautiful, but here the morning is always quiet. There is no haste.”
“What has become of Pepe?” Lewis asked.
“Pepe? I know no Pepe.”
“He used to be the house-boy.”
“I am the house-boy. My name is Manuel. The last one was a thief. Don Julian had to get rid of him. Maybe that was Pepe. If you want anything, you apply to me, please. The others speak no English. They are ignorant mestizos.”
Manuel was fastidious. The grimace that accompanied the reference to half-breeds stressed the high opinion he had of himself. Lewis wondered that Julian could tolerate the fellow after the lovable, devoted Pepe.
“The coffee is good,” Manuel volunteered. “I made it myself.” Then, as Lewis pulled on his dressing-gown and moved towards the door: “Where are you going, señor? The bath is not quite ready.”
“Let me know when it is,” Lewis snapped at him.
“Wait, señor, please. If you wish to see your brother, the doctor says it is possible. I will go with you.”
The neon bulb still burned in the darkened room. A slight movement of the curtains in a current of air showed that the window behind them was open, but the atmosphere was still heavy with the oleander scent; heavy indeed, yet the same whiff of iodoform came through it. The day nurse, a younger Indian woman, stirred uneasily in her chair and focused sharp eyes on the intruder.
Lewis could see no change in Julian. He gazed down at the wasted, deathlike face and marked anxiously the feeble movement of breathing. He waited, watching for some variation, and at last he saw, or thought he saw, a feeble ripple of life under the skin.
“Julian!” He bent over the bed and called softly, his face close to the pillow.
The seaweed smell was stronger, puzzling. He associated iodoform with operations and surgical dressings. Possibly it might be used in the treatment of this obscure tropical disease. There could be some skin eruption, a rash.
“Julian! Can you hear me?”
The Indian woman started up nervously. The hovering Manuel protested.
“No. It is not allowed.”
“Get out of my way.” Lewis caught him off balance with a sudden push, then placed his hands gently on Julian’s shoulders, vaguely hoping that the contact might rouse him.
“Julian!” His hands moved over the thin fabric of the pyjama jacket, feeling the emaciated body. Then, as the house-boy seized him and tugged at one arm, the jacket came open and he saw bandages.
Thrusting forward, the woman spoke to Manuel in an urgent mutter.
“She says you must go,” he translated. “The doctor is very strict in his orders. Please, señor!”
“Take your hands off me!” Lewis pushed the fellow back again and the woman cried out wildly. Then the door was thrown open and Benevides strode in.
“So you are determined to make trouble, Mr. Page,” he said. “If there is any more of it, you will force me to close this room to you.”
The voice was cold and quiet. The menace was in the eyes of the man.
“What is the matter with my brother?” Lewis demanded. “Why is he bandaged? What are you trying to hide from me?”
“Hide? You are being absurd, my friend. It has been put to you very plainly that your brother is dangerously ill. All that concerns you is that he is getting the best of attention. He did not invite you here. He would be the first in deploring your behaviour. You have no rights in this house.”
“Rights be damned! I want to know what is wrong with him.”
“We will settle this matter at once. Your brother’s wife is ready to see you. Come with me, and please try to calm yourself. You will realise, if you can, that my sister is going through a severe ordeal. She will expect to find sympathy from one so anxious about her husband.”
Lewis somehow checked the desire to retort violently. Benevides wheeled abruptly and led the way to the living-room.
The woman was standing at the window with her back to the door, and Lewis saw the slender, well-formed figure almost in silhouette against the sunlight in the forecourt.
“My dear Leite,” Benevides said. “I bring you Julian’s brother.”
She turned and came forward, and Lewis, made speechless by surprise, stared into the lovely troubled eyes that he thought were so beautiful. “Señora . .”
The word was formed and uttered somehow, and he continued to stare in incredulity.
She was the woman who had travelled on the plane from Cristobal to Santa Teresa.