Dangerous Waters by Rosalind Brett

grinned at the deepening color in her cheeks and said lazily, “ It ’ s all a matter of being a good picker. ”
    “ Well, ” from Mrs. Lunn, “ I hope you two will be as happy as we have been during the last twenty-four years. We ’ ve a son and a daughter, both training for careers in England. They were born here and kept very healthy. ” She laughed self-consciously. “ I ’ m not normally superstitious, but I often recall a sort of blessing we were given, shortly after our marriage. We were both teaching at a village in Johore and one night a very respected old man came to visit us. He brought a pinkish mess of rice in palm wine, and we had to swallow the stuff to please him. Luckily, I was quite cheerful about it because I didn ’ t know the meaning of it, but later on my husband discovered what it was. The concoction was meant to ensure happiness, but not till we ’ d been married a year. The testing year, I suppose. ”
    Remembering the split bamboo containing pink rice grains in coconut milk tasting of wine, Terry felt a little sick. She smoked her cigarette and stared at the river, while the others went on talking. It was after nine o ’ clock when Pete said they must leave, and getting towards ten before the Lunns allowed the canoe to be pushed out. The middle-aged couple called their good wishes, waved their hands.
    “ Hope we ’ ll meet again some time! ”
    “So do I, ” from Pete. “ I ’ ll return your hospitality. ”
    “ I wish it were possible, but you never know! ”
    The canoe was out in midstream and the figures of the Lunns had shrunk considerably when Pete remarked to Terry, “ We won ’ t hope to meet them again too soon. Their memories seem a little foggy, so if they do ever return to Penghu they ’ ll probably confuse me with someone they met elsewhere. They ’ re tied up for the duration of their leave, anyway. Two months can be quite a long time. ”
    So can four days, thought Terry; at least, the first three days could seem leaden, though the fourth was likely to take wing. Still, it lay right there, ahead of them. A smooth, palm-hung river with big redwood meranti trees helping to shade part of it. No hazards; and Pete, looking bronzed and rough-haired, his eyes gleaming slightly as he rhythmically moved the paddle, his mouth set in the negligent smile that ... that hurt her just a little.
    At about one o ’ clock they met their first plantation. There were long rows of coconut palms with tall lalang grass between them. A neglected plantation, Pete said; it probably belonged to a Mal ay who had no organizing ability.
    “ Lalang grass should always be eliminated where there ’ s cultivation, ” Pete told her. “ Hoeing between trees is most important here, where the jungle absorbs everything that ’ s neglected. Whole cities have disappeared in the Malayan jungle. ”
    “ Good heavens, why were they allowed to vanish? ”
    “ Various reasons. Tin mines would become derelict and the workers move elsewhere. Communications were nonexistent, so that half the country hardly knew the other half existed. Then there ’ s always the fight with the forest — that ’ s unceasing. Among the rubber trees we keep the earth bare as far as possible. It ’ s not difficult, so long as you have enough workers. You ’ ll have to ...”
    He stopped speaking, but not pointedly. She wondered if he had been going to say she must come out and see the estate but checked himself. Well, it was the orthodox thing to do—invite anyone who might be interested to look over a rubber plantation. Only Pete didn ’ t want her there; and if she were honest with herself, she would admit that she didn ’ t want to see the estate ... or his house ... or meet his friends. Particularly, she didn ’ t want to meet his girl friends.
    As though his speech had never halted he was saying, “ Our company owns five rubber districts, and each is divided into eight sections. We have section supervisors, a