"WHERE EVERY PROSPECT PLEASETH."

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 59, 11 March 1930, Page 18

"WHERE EVERY PROSPECT PLEASETH."

SHORT STORY. T c

1 (By JESSIE URQUHART.) Some women at 40 look ten years " younger, others again look 50. Fanny -j was one of the former. Blonde, fair- ' skinned, blue-eyed. None but those in ] her home town, who remembered when - she put her hair up, and how old she was when her mother died 12 years ago, , could really judge her age, and they did 1 not judge, they knew. She kept her ■; figure, too, naturally, which was a god- \ send in these days of liquid diet and dry i food. "I can't imagine what the men are thinking of," people speculated. "She's ' good looking, capable ..." "That's it," explained a young, per- 1 manently waved matron. "If there's one thing more damning than another to an ' unattached female, it's being labelled capable." And Fanny was not only capable, but practical to a painful degree, holding ! love as a sign of mental anaemia and j eschewing sentimentality in song, stage : and story. ' "Mush," she described it, comprehen- ; sively. _ : Her younger sister was neither cap- j able nor practical, and possessing an j attenuated soprano voice, was much in : demand for singing "Radiant Morn" at ; the evening church service and the j I "Indian Love Lyrics" at various parties, j When,- therefore, Pansy became engaged -—as ..was only . natural— Fanny considered her sister's imbecility complete. "What are you going to live on?" she demanded, discussing the young mans impecunious condition. "Money," declared Pansy, "is nothing. Love is; sufficient." "In that case," remarked Fanny, with some ■ acidity, "you won't need the £50 I intended to give you." She was like that. Swift to judge, sharper than the proverbial two-edged sword, scorning Ethel Dell and holding Rin-tin-tin the only intelligent performer on the films. Yet Peter Austin had loved her for many years, but dared not declare himself, and Fanny, aware of his infatuation, considered him a fool. So there it was. Then, like a bombshell, canie the legacy. There was much speculation as to how she would spend £500, and Pansy and her lover began to discuss a definite date for their wedding. But Fanny had ideas of hex* own, and a trip to the Old Country was one of them. • "But, my dear girl," Peter Austin protested. "You can't go all that way alone." . , „ . "I'm not your dear girl,' she reminded him, "and if I can't travel alone at 40, I may as well give my money to the heathen and go into an institution wliere someone will dress and feed "No need to give it to the heathen, Pansy said. "Charity begins at home, you know." .. _ It didn't, it seemed, begin anywhere, for Fanny booked her passage and applied, for her passport. "But the ports, Fanny," they warned her. "Thing of Port Said and Colombo. You know you would never come and see 'The Sheik,' so you can't know what you will be up against." "It won't be so bad in England. Cold climates and cold heart. Hot sunshine and hot passions." "Don't be so coarse," Fanny remonstrated. , - r There were two words she could nevet ■ tolerate. Passion and sex. They made her feel insufficiently clad, she said. Still, she went on packing and the bfefore sailing she went to church. There they sang that gem ot the East: "Where every prospect pleaseth And only man is vile." And Peter Austin stared reproachfully at her. ... ~ "I don't suppose," she said on the way home, "that there's any more temptation in Colombo that here," and Peter, squaring his shoulders, suddenly lelt a bit The morning Fanny woke to find the ship echoing to high, shrill native voices she felt a vague quickening of her pulses, and hurried up on deck. see the tiny boats swarming on the harbour, wonderful to see the white clad men, the masses of coloured rugs, the (riint of brass, the dull subtle gleam of amber, to feel the East rising giddily to one's respectable forty-year-old brain. Colombo! : ' Fanny felt something leap to sentient life within rtier,. felt her tepid blood tingle. . . . Quick patter of bare feet on the-..decks, the flash of white teeth in brown faces, the red fez of a follower of the Prophet . . . Someone touched her arm. . "Mr. Nesbit and I have a friend here who will drive us round. Would you come, too ?" V During the voyage Fanny and Mrs. Nesbit had sat together, the elderly woman glad to find a friendly ear into which to pour her family history. The noisy younger generation racketing through days of sport and nights of dancing had never a thought for the woman who hated herself for being toe old to share their pleasure and not old enough to doze the long blue hours of daylight away. Fanny rather despised Mrs. Nesbit, but had been glad of her company. . _ ■ "I should love to come," she said. "If I won't be intruding." ■' The friend proved a handsome youngish'man,'olive skinned and dark eyed, with perfect manners and just that touch of suavity and deference that was not quite/British. The faint, faraway echo of the Pattah sounding beneath the bearing of the Cosmopolitan. . . He shook'hands with Mr.'and Mrs. Nesbit. "This is our friend, Miss Blake," they explained. • • * . He bowed - carelessly, then his eyes steadied, and under their unwavering gaze Fanny's lowered. "Come along," he said. "My launch is waiting." There were crowds about the gangway, but Fanny. felt ■ an unaccustomed hand beneath her elbow and hesitated. "I don't think—■" she began,-but it was too late, and the next minute she was in the ; launch, an unaccountable flutter- ■ ing at her heart.,, , . ; , | The friend devoted all his attention to the Nesbits, but Fanny knew that not . a movement of hers escaped him. Always i she felt his veiled glance following her, ; and, was annoyed—-at first., . |; He leapt lightly ashore when the launch touched the wharf, piloted them through, : the - turnstile, past the 1 money , changers .and-children pleading .ingrati- ! atingly for "pennee." Outside now and up the , steps,. while at. every movement Fanny's' sedate, heart grew younger, hotter. " Splendid to stand there in the blazing sun, to look down the palm.lined ■ street, to see the gleaming buildings,

while all about her swarmed die ever changing life of the East. Heady, exotic, alluring . . . A car pulled up, and the friend turned to them. "Mr. Nesbit, I think, on the front," he said. "We three in the back. So they started down the wide white street, where boys were selling elephants and beads, where old men dozed in the sunshine and others curled up in the cool shadow of a doorway, where children jumped on to the running board singing "Tipperary" and flinging frangipanni into the car. Tea carts drawn by slouching oxen, motors whirling through the hot, scented air . . . "Those are Hindus with the red and white caste mark painted on their faces, the men in the black turbans are Afghans, that man in the yellow robe is a Buddhist priest . . the friend was explaining, but Fanny's mind was blank, only her senses were keenly, painfully alive. "I thought perhaps," the soft voice went on, "we could have a run out to Mt. Lavinia and do your shopping later." "Of course," chirped Mrs. Nesbit. "But father and I must be at the Galle Face by six to meet some friends." "Certainly."

I Beyond the bazaars now and out through the lovely Cinnamon Gardens, the friend talking all the time, being polite, to the Nesbits. It had rained the nio-ht before, and now the hot smell of tropical flowers drifted from, the gardens. "Cold climates, cold hearts. Hot sunshine, hot passions." Fanny's senses reeled. Suddenly she felt a slight pressure of an arm against hers, she moved away, but it was not relieved. He was still talking and the car was small. Once he turned to her, and as their eyes met she realised it was not the smallness of the car. Tho road to Mount Lavinia is tree lined, with houses sitting far back in long gardens, native churches, native cemeteries, mission schools, small lubber plantations follow each other along the enchanted way. Then come native stalls with customers haggling over the strange wares, lean dogs, black-eyed babies, and over all the cloying glamour of the East. Mount Lavinia now and the smell of the sea. "Are, you going to the Galle Face for dinner too ?" The friend had dropped behind the | Nesbits on the way to the hotel, and at his question • Fanny hesitated a second. ! "Y-Yes," she stammered. s "Oh," he answered and caught up with L the old people,. 5 It was fragrant in the great hostel. E Breezes from the ocean slipped like ' vagrant elves through the wide windows, • boys black as ebony liawked amber .and tortoisliell among the tables and down b below the .terraces a fishing boat cut the I sand as the waves drove it on to the t beach. Over everything, the whispering 1 breeze that blows softly over that island r where every prospect pleases. 1 "Fool," muttered Fanny, catching herself repeating the fatuous words. They e had tea out on the terrace, and once as she rested her hand on' the table he touched it. Ever so lightly, but Fanny '• did not move hers. Afterward they drove y back to the Fort, calling at a Buddhist 0 temple on the way. "This," said the e friend pointing to tho Bo tree at the ? entrance, "was grown from a seed of f the famous Indian'tree more than , two e thousand years, ago," 0 "Fancy that," murmured Mrs. Nesbit. "Go on!" exclaimed Mr. Nesbit. f They did. The friend gave Fanny a • Temple flower and she held it rapturr ously. • Peter Austin and his thinning hair, Pan'sy and her innocuous young man, all the old familiar things gone now in the sensuous loveliness about her. She didn't want to buy anything in the shops, but was content to drive along the b scented streets, threading their way 3 through the native population of Pettah, r and about six they turned toward the 1 Galle Face. 5 "Are you going there for dinner too V • he repeated. r Her fair face flamed. "No," she confessed. s "Then have it with me, somewhere?" \ He was greatly daring. The curtain of her blonde hair shielded l hen "Mount Lavinia?" he suggested. "Yes," she whispered. I They left the old people at the great . entrance, and Mrs. Nesbit, vaguely un--3 easy, saw them drive off. \ ' "I hope she will be all right," she • said. "At her age!" laughed her husband. i "Now if it were our. Violet . . ; Soft-footed black boys moving among ; the tables, scented flowers, the muted , notes of the orchestra .... ■ Fanny s breath came quickly as she stood in the ! doorway, while her companion spoke to l a S waiter —a native who wore a circular r caste comb in his hair. I | "Come," said her friend turning to I Her. "We shall have our cocktails on ; the terrace." ' y - ! "But," she protested softly, "I don't." ! "Yes you do," he said. "In Colombo." [ ! Dinner, a succession of highly-spiced , dishes, a. queer, disjointed conversation,

sometimes he touched her hand, ever so lightly, always he watched her, daringly. Afterwards they had coffee on the terrace, again with the surf breaking in passionate rapture at the feet of the fringing palms. Far out the lights of a steamer, passing .... "You are so fair," he was saying, "like a camellia flower among dark leaves." "Where is it going?" she asked absently. "That steamer . . . ." "Goodness knows. Australia, perhaps, but what does it matter to us." Australia! Home! Peter Austin, with his comfortable middle-aged figure and his gold watch chain stretchcd across it . . . She stood up. "I'm going back to the ship," s]ie said abruptly. "But your coffee, our drive along the Kandy road, the moonlight out by the Galle Face—" "I can get coffee on the boat, thank you," she assured him, "and moonlight, too, for that matter." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and calling the waiter, paid him. Going back in the car she seemed elderly, bleached, middle aged. "You .haven't bought any memento of Colombo," he hazarded. "I don't require any," she told him. He went down the turnstile with her. and watched her board the little boat. "Good-bye," she called. "And thank you." He bowed from the waist, then turned to a man standing near. "Ah," the man said, "at'it again." "Fools," the other answered. "They expect it. Turkish Delight at Port Said, Romance at Colombo." * # * • Fanny leaning over the railing watching the Avater pouring o'ver the breakwater pondered. "Sentimental, mushy fool," she said severely, then went down and wrote a satisfactory letter to Peter Austin.