The House of Seven Fountains by Anne Weale Read Free Book Online Page A

pool surrounding an ornamental stone pedestal.
    “One moment, please,” Chen said.
    He moved away and touched what appeared to be a switch on the wall of the house. There was a faint hissing sound and then, so unexpectedly that Vivien jumped, a curtain of water soared into the air above the pool.
    “Why, of course—the fountains!” she cried excitedly, and ran across stone pavement for a closer view.
    There were indeed seven jets, the tallest one issuing from the top of the pedestal and the other six cascading from the sides like the petals of some wonderful glittering flower.
    “How beautiful!” she exclaimed. “And the sound—it’s like music.”
    Like a delighted child, she stretched out her hands and let the soft veil of water fall onto them, each drop sparkling like crystal. When she turned to speak to Chen she found he had gone.
    For the next hour Vivien sat in the courtyard watching the fountains play. Now and then a petal would drift down from the branches of the tree and once a butterfly with emerald wings fluttered past her shoulder. The sound of the fountains was infinitely soothing, and presently she lay back on the swing couch and felt a peaceful drowsiness stealing over her.
    When she woke up the sunlight had mellowed and Ah Kim was standing over her, smiling, holding a tall glass of lemonade with an ice cube clinking gently against the rim.
    “ Mem sleep good,” she said approvingly.
    Vivien sipped the lemonade and glanced at her watch. It was half-past six. She wondered what time Chen intended to serve her evening meal and if she should dress for her date with Julian before dinner or afterward. The question was answered by the appearance of two of the junior houseboys bearing a table, which they set down beside her and proceeded to lay.
    Then Chen came out.
    “It was the custom of Tuan Cunningham to dine here. But if the mem does not wish it ... ”
    “But I do. I can’t think of a nicer place to eat,” Vivien said quickly.
    “Tonight mem goes to the club with Tuan Barclay so I order dinner one hour earlier,” Chen said, moving a fork a fraction of an inch and adjusting the placing of the cruet.
    Vivien was about to ask how he knew that she was going to the club when she remembered that he had been standing nearby when Julian made the invitation. Although his face was an enigma, by indirect means she was finding out a good deal about her godfather’s number one boy. He was no ordinary servant, that was quite evident. His air of authority and his familiarity with each piece in the jade collection suggested that he had been on close terms with her godfather. She wondered what he felt about her advent. Did he secretly resent her coming? Was he suspicious of her? Did he realize that she was only here for a short time? Whatever the answers were to her questions, Vivien had a strong conviction that it was important to make friends with Chen.
    The dinner was excellent; a feather-light omelet followed by deviled prawns and then fresh pineapple and cream.
    When she finished Vivien asked Chen if she could see the cook to compliment him on the meal. A stout Chinese was summoned to her presence and with Chen as interpreter Vivien told him how much she had enjoyed her dinner. The cook bowed so low that she was afraid he would topple over, but when he safely righted himself his face was wreathed in smiles and he burst out with a flow of Cantonese which, but for his toothy grin, could have been mistaken for an angry tirade.
    “He says you are the daughter of the old tuan. He means that you have the custom of politeness that is not known to many of your race,” Chen translated for her.
    W hen Vivien went to her bedroom to change she half wished that she had not agreed to go to the club. She suspected that Julian was the type of man who expected his women friends to be immaculately dressed, and she had nothing smart in which to make her debut into the European community.
    The choice lay between a pink