The House of Seven Fountains Read Free Page B

do, Miss Connell. It isn’t advisable for an Englishwoman to go about unaccompanied after dark. I take it you don’t speak the language?”
    “No, I don’t. But I think I am capable of looking after myself, Dr. Stransom.”
    “No doubt—in your home town. This is Asia.”
    “Aren’t you being rather alarmist? ” There was an edge to her voice again and obstinacy in the slight lift of her chin.
    His glance measured her for a moment. “These are unsettled times. If you had ever been in an Asian riot, Miss Connell, you might be a trifle less confident. Novels and films give a highly romanticized picture of the East, you know.”
    “I’m not a schoolgirl,” she retorted cuttingly.
    “My dear young lady, I a m s ure Dr. Stransom never meant to suggest that you were,” the professor interposed. “I shall be delighted to offer myself as your escort. I haven’t visited the Shwe Dagon since the war.”
    Vivien’s annoyance melted at his gentleness.
    “I’m sorry if I sounded ungracious,” she said sincerely. “Actually, I think I will go to bed early, I hadn’t realized how exhausting the heat would be, and I expect I shall be able to see the Pagoda on my return journey.”
    Having assured the professor that she really had changed her mind, she led him into talking about his research, and the rest of the meal passed in an amiable atmosphere, although Dr. Stransom made little contribution to the conversation. Once or twice she caught him watching her with a sardonic expression.
    In fact, his patronizing advice had increased her determination to see the famous shrine.
    Her life had been bound by convention for so long that now, tasting freedom, she was in a mood to resent the mildest stricture. Had he shown more friendliness during the past two days she might have accepted his caution, but since he had not, she felt that his attitude was infuriatingly presumptuous.
    After dinner they returned to the lounge for coffee, and when the professor said good-night, Vivien made a pretense of going to her room. Taking the elevator up to the first floor, she then doubled back down the staircase, slipped cautiously through the foyer and hailed a trisha.
    Riding through the streets in the shabby but comfortable little vehicle with the trisha boy’s shirt flapping in the night breeze and his bare feet spinning on the pedals, Vivien felt an enjoyable sense of daring. Although he had no authority to stop her from visiting the Pagoda by herself, the fact that Dr. Stransom disapproved lent an extra spice to the excursion. Tomorrow she would tell him that she had been and add some casual remark about his unnecessary concern.
    After what had seemed to be quite a short ride, the driver deposited her at the entrance to the temple. Seeing a Burmese woman discarding her slippers, Vivien followed suit, leaving her shoes with a flower seller from whom she bought a posy of jasmine.
    She began to climb the great stairway, the steps warm and smooth under her bare soles. On either side of the ascent were stalls selling flowers, gongs, trinkets and miniature white umbrellas to be offered to the Buddha. The vendors glanced at her as she passed, but they did not seem unduly interested in her presence and certainly not hostile.
    At the top of the stairs, Vivien found herself on an open terrace with the great golden domes towering above her. The terrace was ablaze with light from hundreds of wicks floating in tiny dishes of oil, and the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, lotus and ginger flowers. Nearby a Burmese girl was kneeling before a massive gilded image, her sleek head bent in rapt devotion, and all the way along the terrace there were other idols, some with the masks of fabulous beasts and some with bland, slant-eyed human faces.
    By the time she had explored the shrine with its many shadowed galleries where shaven-headed Buddhist priests in saffron-and-orange robes walked leisurely among the kneeling figures of pilgrims, it was