'The worst of it was the way I found out.' Her voice was very low now, it was the only way she could keep herself from crying. 'I decided to go to Raymond's house, to try and patch things up. And I...I found them together. They were lying on a sofa... kissing.'
'My God!' he muttered.
'Raymond was terribly embarrassed, of course. But he told me he loved Edna and that he was going to marry her. For a while I couldn't believe it. There was this great emptiness inside me.'
'That's something I know all about.'
'Yes, you would. But Clint, I felt so let down, disillusioned. If I couldn't trust Raymond, there was nobody I could trust.'
'Not every man is like Raymond,' Clint said quietly.
'That's something I'll never know.'
His voice changed. 'I hope you don't really mean that.'
'I told you last night that I didn't intend to find a replacement for Raymond, and I meant it,' Alison insisted.
Clint reached for her hand again. 'You think that now because you're still hurt. I believe the time will come when you will love again, Alison.'
'I won't let it happen. In fact, I'll make quite sure it doesn't.' She drew her hand away from his. 'When I found out about Edna I wanted to die. I was so jealous of her, Clint, it was awful!'
'A normal reaction, I'd say.'
'Maybe so, but I don't want to experience it again. Yesterday you asked me if I was the jealous kind. I'm never going to be jealous again, Clint. You can only be jealous if you love someone, and I don't intend to let myself love again.'
'What about loneliness?'
'I won't be lonely. I'll have my stables and my horses, all the things I like best. I'll never have to wonder whether a man is interested in me because he loves me, or because I happen to be the diversion of the moment.'
She looked at him steadily in the dim light. 'That's why I didn't tell you the truth about Raymond. I didn't want you thinking I was fair game just because there was no longer a man in the picture.'
'Your opinion of me is flattering,' he said drily.
'It's not personal, Clint. It would have been the same with any man.'
'I see.'
'Anyway, perhaps now you can understand why I don't want to be touched?'
'You're a lovely woman, Alison. I know that you're warm and caring, and I sense that you've a great capacity for love. Are you really going to deny yourself a normal life?' He sounded troubled.
'That part of my life is over,' she said firmly. 'I'm not likely to change my mind.'
She was surprised when Clint asked her to have dinner with him at the hotel again that evening.
'After what happened last night? Aren't you embarrassed to be seen with me?' she queried.
'I don't get embarrassed that easily,' he said cheerfully. 'The counsellors arrive tomorrow, Alison. Let's have one lovely evening together before this place becomes a madhouse. I won't make a pass at you, I promise.'
And, in fact, it really was a lovely evening. There was none of the strain of yesterday; tonight they talked and laughed with the easy enjoyment of two people who had become friends.
The food was delicious—a succulent fish this time, caught in the cold, fresh waters of the mountains. Once again Clint ordered wine, a sparkling Riesling that came from vineyards much further south than the Drakensberg.
Time passed quickly as they talked about music and films and books they had both read, and Alison was amazed to find how much she was enjoying herself. The conversation was eager and spirited, for their opinions differed widely.
One film in particular was the subject of keen discussion. It was a movie they had both enjoyed, though each had seen it in a different light. Clint saw Miranda, the heroine, as a charming schemer; to Alison she was a helpless victim of circumstances. A good ten minutes were spent discussing plot and character, with neither Clint nor Alison willing to compromise their views, while each acknowledged that the points the other made were good ones.
Alison was laughing when they finally agreed to call a truce. 'Not that we settled that one.'
'But we had a good time disagreeing, didn't we?' Clint's eyes sparkled at her over the candlelight.
'Oh, we did! A marvellous time. I remember coming out of that movie with Raymond, and feeling I wanted to talk about it.'
'Didn't you?'
Alison tightened, but only briefly. 'Well, no... There would have been no point to it, really. We'd have had the same opinion.'
'How could you know that without testing it?' Clint was watching her.
'Because we always thought the same way.'
'About everything?'
'Most things. Our likes, our dislikes, everything was the same. We always knew what the other was thinking.' She paused a moment. 'Oh, don't look at me like that, Clint. There's nothing wrong with two people being so similar.'
'Except that the similarity could get boring eventually.'
'You'll be saying next that we didn't really love each other,' she said crossly.
'Did you?' he asked quietly.
'Of course we did!' she came back, a little too quickly. 'I can't remember a time when I didn't love Raymond. I thought you understood that.'
'I believe that you loved him.' His voice was very soft now. 'But were you in love with him?'
She stared at him. In the glow of the candlelight, her eyes were smudged with shock. Clint's eyes held hers, not wavering even when her lips began to tremble.
Alison was the first to shift her gaze away. 'I feel like dancing,' she said.
They went to the dance-floor, and Clint took her in his arms; neither of them referred to the fact that Alison had not answered his question. They danced till the band took a break, and then they went back to their table and had dessert and coffee and more wine, and the discussion turned to horses. The one topic they didn't touch on again was Raymond.
It was late when they got back to the camp. At the door of Alison's cabin they stopped, and she looked up at Clint.
'You're safe,' he smiled down at her. 'I'm not going to force my way in.''Just as well.' She was smiling back at him. Yet, inside her, belying the words and the smile, was a most contradictory frisson of disappointment.
'Not that I wouldn't like to,' he said lightly. 'I'm determined to live in hope, Alison.'
'It's getting late, Clint. Thank you for a very lovely evening.'
'I'm the one to thank you,' he said softly.
He reached towards her, cupped her face in those large hands of his, and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, and it lasted just a few seconds.
Without a word, he released her then, and disappeared into the fragrant darkness.
Alison closed the door. She did not switch on the light, but went instead to the window. For a few minutes she just stood there, resting her hot face against the cool glass pane, and trying to calm a mind that was surprisingly agitated.
It was a few minutes before she felt calm enough to close the curtains and get ready for bed. But in the moments before she finally slept a question burned in her mind. The question which Clint had asked her, and which she had not answered.
'I believe you loved Raymond,' he had said. 'But were you in love with him?'
The camp counsellors arrived a day later. Clint drove the camp van to the station, some ten miles away, to pick them up. They piled out of the van half an hour later, laughing, vocal, still catching up on the news that had taken place in the last year, all wearing jeans and T-shirts, and dragging an assortment of cases and tote- bags behind them.
All of them were young, Alison saw, as they were introduced. Early twenties, about the same as her own age of twenty-two. Gary and Brian, who would be supervising the boys, as well as organising canoeing and rafting. Mary, Wendy and Laurie, who would be looking after the girls, in addition to organising various sporting activities. Patricia, the girl who looked after the office work, had arrived too, apologising for her delay, and thanking Alison for having helped Clint out in her place.
; Almost immediately Alison knew that if she was to have a special friend at the camp it would be Mary. Red curls flying, guitar strung across her shoulder, mischievous smile lighting up a merry face, it was Mary who said to Alison, 'Hello! Clint said we're neighbours. Do you mind the dulcet sounds of a guitar at all hours of the night?'
Alison laughed. 'Just as long as they're dulcet!' She'd been wondering what it would be like to be the new member of a group which had worked together a few years. Now she knew that she need not have worried.
'The fair Virginia made her appearance already?' Mary asked.
'Not yet.'
'She will, never fear.'
Virginia made her appearance an hour later in a fancy little red sports car, apparently new since the previous year, and which had Brian and Gary drooling. But Virginia barely acknowledged the envy of the young male counsellors. As she left the car, she had eyes only for one person.
'Clint!' She went straight to him, lifting her arms and her mouth for his kiss.
An embrace which a cheerful Clint did nothing to discourage, Alison noted grimly.
'You look wonderful!' Virginia was enthusing.
'You're looking pretty good yourself,' he grinned down at her.
She did look good—stunning, in fact. Tall, and with a superb figure, Virginia was a beautiful woman. With her sleek, blonde hair parted in the middle and resting on either side of her forehead in classic waves, she could easily have been a model. She was older than the other staffers, late twenties, Alison guessed, and unlike the casual jeans of the others she wore an emerald trouser suit that looked as if it had been lifted straight from the pages of Vogue.
'Does she always dress like that?' Alison asked Mary softly.
'Not when she's working. Then she goes in for safari suits, very tailored, very expensive, always stylish. There's no competing with her.'
Mary was right, Alison decided. It would be a remarkable man who would not be fascinated by Virginia.
She found herself having to try surprisingly hard to force a smile when Clint made the introductions.
'I'm very pleased to meet you, Alison. I hope you'll enjoy working at Bushveld.' Virginia's voice was low and husky, as sexy as her appearance.
'Thank you, Virginia, I'm sure I will.'
'Clint tells me you came down with him a few days ago.'
'Yes. There was quite a bit of paperwork to be done.'
'He kept you working all the time, did he?' This was said with a flirtatious look at Clint.
'Not all the time,' Alison said smoothly.
Virginia's blue eyes regarded her coldly. Then the camp director turned to Clint, and now her mouth was curved in a charming smile. 'You should have let me know. I would have come to help you if I'd known there was a problem.'
Later in the day a meeting was held in the games room. Clint officially welcomed the counsellors and made a short speech that was laced with good humour and friendly informality.
Then Virginia took over. The camp director's words were strictly to the point: a short run-through of the different camp activities, a list of objectives which Virginia expected both campers and counsellors to achieve. Everything precise, well thought out, well organised.
She addressed herself to each counsellor in turn, outlining his or her duties. When she came to Alison, her words were crisper, her voice cooler.
She doesn't like me, Alison realised. I wonder why. She can't possibly think that I'm competition for her.
Only when Virginia addressed Clint did her manner change. A deepening huskiness came into her voice when she spoke to him. Flirtatiousness was in her smile.
Alison watched Virginia and Clint standing together at the front of the room. There was an ease between them that spoke of long familiarity. Even if Jenny had not told her about Virginia, Alison would have guessed that they knew each other well.
Well—and so what? It really didn't concern her one way or another, she told herself. How could it, when she herself had no emotional interest in Clint?
CHAPTER FIVE
AT LAST the campers arrived: close on seventy of them, girls and boys, ranging in age from nine years to sixteen. They came with knapsacks and sleeping-bags and tennis racquets, some carrying fishing-rods. There were the 'oldies', the ones who had attended camp in previous years, "who whooped when they saw old friends and were raring to embark on the summer's activities. And then there were the first-time campers. These were easy to spot, for they stood back, looking awkward and shy, and a little fearful at leaving home for the first time.
For the counsellors, there was lots to do—campers to be welcomed, registers to check, health cards to file, children to be sorted in groups, and directed to their cabins.
Confusion might have reigned, yet under Virginia's expert supervision all went smoothly. The camp director was remarkable. However hectic things became, she never grew flustered, and she always remained looking cool a.nd beautiful.
It was late afternoon when a car bearing the last child arrived. A little boy got out of the car, then huddled against it, as if he expected some awful thing to happen to him'. Looking younger than his ten years, he was waiflike and very pale, with huge eyes dominating his small face.
Timmy Roscoe. Alison recognised him immediately. Even if she hadn't been expecting him, she would have known who he was.
She went quickly to him. 'You must be Timmy,' she said gently.
The big eyes looked at her. 'Yes.'
'We've been expecting you. My name is Alison.' She looked up at the tall man next to him. 'And you must be Timmy's uncle.'
'Joe Roscoe, yes.' He was young and harassed-looking. Alison, who had been through Timmy's file more than once, knew that Joe's wife was in the last stages of pregnancy. Taking their little nephew into their home to convalesce while his parents were still in hospital after the accident had not been easy for them.
She gave the man her warm smile. 'You won't have to worry about Timmy, Mr Roscoe. We'll look after him.' Bending to the little boy, she gave him a hug. 'You're going to have a super time here, Timmy.'
He regarded her thoughtfully. Then, as if he'd decided to trust her, he gave a tentative smile. Her heart going out to him, Alison hugged him again.
She was about to say something more when an icy voice intervened. 'Thank you, Alison, I'll take care of things now.'
Alison looked up into Virginia's unsmiling face. Something tightened inside her, but she just said gently, 'See you later, Timmy.'
Clint arrived at that moment, and shook Joe Roscoe's hand. And then Clint and Virginia conferred with Timmy's uncle, while Alison, not quite knowing what to do, stood to one side.
At length it was time for Mr Roscoe to go. Timmy „ stood in one spot, watching the car until it was out of sight. He looked totally bereft.
'Time to go to your cabin, Timmy,' Virginia told him.
'OK.' Obediently he bent to pick up his suitcase.
Alison, knowing how recently the plaster cast had been removed from his leg, thought the case looked a bit too heavy for the frail child.
'I'll carry that,' she offered, moving to take the case from his hand.
But she hadn't gone two steps when Virginia stopped her. 'Timmy will carry his own case, Alison.'
Alison stared at the camp director, outraged. 'It's heavy!' she protested.
'All campers carry their own belongings.'
But Timmy wasn't 'all campers'. He was a little boy who was still recovering from a nasty accident.
Alison cast a look of appeal at Clint. 'Surely in this instance, Clint..
Clint gave Alison a brief look which she did not understand. Then he smiled at Timmy and said, quite gently, 'Do you think you can manage the case?'
The boy nodded.
'Well, that's fine, then,' said Virginia. 'Gary there- see the counsellor in the green shirt?—he'll show you the way to your cabin.'
When Timmy, carrying his case, had gone off with Gary, Alison looked from Clint to Virginia. Her eyes w
ere blazing. 'I don't believe what just happened! Why would it have been so wrong for me to carry Timmy's case?'
'Timmy Roscoe is to be treated like any other camper,' said Virginia coolly. 'The last thing he needs is pity.'
'Pity! Good lord, I wasn't showing him pity—just a bit of compassion!'
'Our opinions differ on that.' Virginia's tone was crisp. 'But whatever your opinion—and I'm sure you agree with me on this, Clint—I expect you to support my directions, Alison.'
Support? You cold bitch! The words sprang to Alison's tongue, but she saw Clint's warning glance, and clamped her lips.
'Alison has already shown that she has the interests of the camp at heart, Virginia,' Clint said quietly.
But that wasn't enough for Alison. Clint should have taken her side instead of trying to keep the peace, she thought mutinously. She saw him looking at her, but she refused to meet his eyes.
Anger churned inside her as she made her way to the stables—an anger that did not lessen when she began to groom the horses.
She decided to go for a ride before supper. It was sunset, and the sky was awash with brilliant shades of crimson and gold. The sun had left the lower slopes of the mountains, but the high peaks were bathed in a translucent radiance. A widow-bird dragged its heavy black tail across the scrub, and a tiny gazelle peeped out of a thicket at the cantering horse. It was all so beautiful, yet it did nothing to improve her mood. By the time she got back to the stables, Alison felt no better about what had happened with Timmy.
It was quite late in the evening when she eventually made her way to Timmy's cabin. Just inside the doorway she stopped. It was silent in the dark cabin. There was no sign of movement from the six bunks. And then, just as she was about to leave, Alison caught „ the sound of muffled sobbing. In an instant she was beside the last bunk.
'Timmy?'
The sobbing stopped briefly, then resumed, more quietly this time, in a way that was even more heartrending than before.
'Timmy...' She tugged gently at the top of the sleeping- bag which he had pulled over his head.
No Greater Joy Page 6
