Plantation Doctor by Kathryn Blair Read Free Book Online

of smokiness. A dangerous type, she rather thought, and was glad they would soon meet again.
    Yes, it had been an exhilarating day, and educational in more ways than one. Englishmen on the Coast were less phlegmatic than those at home, and one’s pulses were quicker to leap.
    The following evening, driving into Palmas with Roger, she felt like an old-timer. It was earlier and the darkness had not quite shed the brilliance of sunset; even the sta r s were tinged with saffron and the moon cast a silver-gilt pathway across the sea.
    The bungalow at which they stopped had a square garden cluttered with grotesque growths of cactus and euphorbia which made uncanny shapes in the moonlight. The windows streamed illumination across a veranda, where several people were drinking and, by the noise, having much fun. A man detached himself and came along the path to meet them. He was tallish, his stride loose-jointed and attractive. His eyes, dark blue and shining with laughter from a recent jest, took in Lyn’s wide brow and short, tawny curls, her eyes, which were grey-blue in this light and bright with anticipation.
    “Hullo, Lyn Russell,” he said. “You smell of the woods and windswept moors of England, the cool lakes, the rose gardens. You make me hungry for everything I haven’t got — and that’s plenty. Come and curtsey to the jaded Coasters and then I’ll ply you with a smooth and gentle gin. I mix a marvellous cocktail.”
    Seeing him again, Lyn recollected his name: Claud Merrick. She liked his easy poise and quizzical expression, the way in which he managed introductions without leaving her stranded with strangers. He was a stranger too, of course, but one who was in the habit of becoming a friend within a brief space of time.
    He took her into the lounge and tipped fresh ingredients into the cocktail-shaker, not measuring, as most men do, but knowing the quantities infallibly, from practice.
    It was a modern lounge, and not so long ago the chairs had been covered in new oatmeal material piped with red. They were stained now from the ever-persistent humidity, and faintly musty-smelling; probably the odor came through from the stuffing.
    “Was it true, what you said last night,” he asked, “—that you’re here for only a week or two?”
    “Absolutely true. My destination is farther back, in the bush.”
    His glance at her as he made vigorous play with the shaker was interested. “Young Bailey told me your story, but he must have left out the most important part. Girls don’t come out to work in West Africa.”
    “ This one did, ” she said, smiling, “but i t looks as if I shall have to wait to get down to it. The men here are so obstructive.”
    He grinned. “You mean the men at Denton? They have a code of behavior that’s so alarmingly honest it’s unbelievable. They catch ’em young and train them in the best traditions of empire-building. The odd thing is, they never admit to being bored; goodness and boredom always seem to me to go together.” He poured drinks. “Try one of these — a Palmas special.”
    His features were excellent she noticed, but below his eyes the skin was dark and creased. He couldn’t be over thirty, yet the two lines from the corner s of his mouth to his nostrils were deeply engraved, and he had the manner of a man who has nothing new to experience. But his glance at Lyn was alert and curious. And in Claud Merrick’s there was nothing naive or callow. It complimented, made a woman feel individual and wanted; it posed exciting queries which could never be answered verbally.
    Vaguely disturbed, Lyn put a question. “Are you a government official, Mr. Merrick?”
    “Call me Claud; everyone does. No, I’m not a government man — even if they’d have me I couldn’t stay inside the red tape. My job is more tricky. I’m one of those chaps who plant rubber.”
    “Rubber! Are there more estates than the Denton?”
    “Only mine, in this region — and it’s hardly in the