Free A Garland of Marigolds by Isobel Chace Page A

and took pity on him. “ Perhaps I ’ ll come along after I ’ ve had a long cold shower, ” she compromised.
    Joseph flushed. “ You don ’ t have to, ” he said awkwardly. He glanced at me and then suddenly began to laugh. “ Suki, honey, your face hasn ’ t half caught the sun! ”
    He was right, of course. By the time we returned to the main bungalow it was already burning. One glance in the mirror was enough to tell me that by tomorrow I would be lucky if it wasn ’ t peeling. And at the back of my mind I discovered that it wasn ’ t the thought of the inevitable pain that disturbed me most, it was that Gideon would see me at such a disadvantage. I didn ’ t want to care what Gideon thought. What Timothy thought, thousands of miles away in America, would surely always be much more important.
    Gideon was out at lunchtime. We sat on the verandah and played with a vegetable curry and the inevitable buttermilk that makes up the Hindu diet. The food was good, but it was too hot to eat. I made my escape as soon as I could and took my samples to the laboratory to test the content of the soils while I had the place to myself. It was work that I enjoyed. I was at home in the laboratory; I felt confident and sure of myself, and the rest of the world was very far away.
    It was almost dark by the time I finished. I heard the jeep come in and I listened for Gideon ’ s footsteps to come toward the laboratory, but they stopped at his bedroom. I was bitterly disappointed. I sat in the gloom and waited longer, but there were no further sounds, and after a while I began to see how silly I was.
    With a sigh I began to put my things away, neatly coding my results in the appropriate files that I had already prepared. When finished, I walked through the house and paused for a second on the verandah. There were monkeys chattering in the trees, pulling at the leaves and chasing each other up and down the branches, jumping down on to the ground and up again, like so many bad-tempered children.
    “ Had a busy day? ” Gideon asked from behind me.
    I turned swiftly. Gideon ’ s hair was wet from a shower. It stood on end, gleaming in the last of the light.
    “ Yes, ” I answered. “ It is a depressing prospect without more water. ”
    “ Oh, I shouldn ’ t say that, ” he said cheerfully. “ There ’ s a long way to go, I know, but the soil is pretty good. ”
    “ I ’ ve just analyzed various samples, ” I said dryly.
    “ And? ”
    “ And the sooner we add some nitrogen to the soil the better! ” I said grimly.
    “ Look, I know that soil— ” he began.
    “ Do you? ” I asked him tartly.
    “ Perhaps you ’ d better let me have your findings, ” he sighed. He looked rather depressed. “ Though where I ’ m going to conjure the stuff up from I don ’ t know! ”
    “ It ’ s the lack of water that I ’ m really worried about, ” I insisted.
    Gideon grunted. The water from his hair was dripping down the back of his neck and he pulled out a handkerchief to dry himself. Across one corner was a smear of pale mauve lipstick. My sympathy for him died dramatically.
    “ The new well will help, ” he said.
    I gave him a scornful look. “ It might, ” I agreed, “ if anyone was around to work it! ”
    “ Is that intended as a reference to me? ” he asked stiffly.
    I shrugged my shoulders. “ If the cap fits ...” I drawled.
    To my surprise he looked amused.
    “ I ’ ll tell you when it does, ” he said.
    Somehow, I thought dismally, he had managed to get the last word again.
    In the morning my jeep was ready for me. I spent most mornings out in the field and afternoons checking my findings and working in the laboratory. Gideon managed to procure various chemicals, but it continued to be the lack of water that worried me most. When I was not worrying about my work, I worried about myself. I could feel myself growing tighter and more intense, but I didn ’ t feel that I could relax with anyone any longer.