by Jan Andersen
“Well, you can, of course, but he’ll ask you tomorrow, and the next day, and since we’re very hospitable people you’ll have to accept in the end, or else live on bad terms with your neighbours.”
Tracy thought this over for a few moments, then said reluctantly, “Well, I’d better go. You’ll be coming too, won’t you?” She suddenly realised she wanted him to, especially if there was any question of business being discussed.
“I don’t think the invitation was extended to me,’' he answered dryly, “but I daresay you could fix it when you telephone to accept.”
When a few minutes later she spoke to Mrs. Lawson, who had a thin fluttery voice, she realised that the idea was not received at all happily, but she also realised that if she were to learn to stand on her own feet then she must stick up for herself. She might imagine herself to be wise in many ways, but to be a match for an older man who was determined to buy her property was a very different matter.
When she went out again Roger’s deep, rather fierce eyes were regarding her warily. At that moment she knew there was no one else to depend on but Roger. Whatever antagonism still lay between them she must somehow dispel, because probably the future of Green Bays rested on their mutual trust.
Well? his eyes seemed to ask.
“I don’t think Mrs. Lawson liked the idea,” Tracy told him, “but she didn’t seem to know how to refuse. And I was very insistent that you came.”
He grinned and his eyes were suddenly warm. “Looks like we’re in this together, Miss Tracy Jamieson.”
“I think we are,” she said gravely. “Shall we shake on it?” When his cool hand clasped hers she hoped a lasting bond was sealed between them.
At about seven Tracy was ready. She had changed into a simple linen dress and brushed her glossy black hair into a knot at the top of her head, hoping it would add a little more maturity. She came out to the yard where Roger was standing by the car, idly smoking a cigarette, and surprised an abrupt, speculative expression as he caught sight of her.
He said as he opened the car door, “Your father said you would be pretty. He was quite right.”
“Thank you.” But she felt suddenly shy.
The ten-minute drive to the Lawsons’ farm was through vast, rolling citrus orchards, then at the top of a rise Roger slowed down. They were at the point, he explained, where the boundaries of three farms met, the Lawsons’ being the largest of these. They owned more than two thousand acres and were, even by South African standards, very rich indeed. On the property was a village that housed all the African workers. There was even a small school. Apparently Lawson had dreams of being one of the biggest private farmers in the Republic, but to do that he needed both Green Bays and the other farm, which was owned by an elderly couple with no children. It seemed quite probable he would get that in the next year or two.
“And is Alex Lawson the only son?” Tracy asked, intrigued by these new neighbours.
“Yes, but there’s a daughter, Julia. You may meet her tonight. She ... well, never mind. You’d better decide about the family for yourself. But,” he turned up a broad sweep of drive flanked by enormous bushes of hibiscus and frangipani, “please remember not to underestimate old Lawson.”
There was a tremendous contrast between the two homes. While Green Bays was a traditional old Dutch house the Lawsons’ could not have been built more than a few years ago. It stood on a rise overlooking terraced gardens, a long, low white bungalow with windows all opening out on to a paved stoep or verandah. To one side was a kidney-shaped swimming pool, part of which had been cut from the natural rock and was overhung with rock flowers on which a fountain played To Tracy, at a quick glance, it was a little like a film set.
The four Lawsons came out to meet them. Alex shook her warmly by the hand, and his pleasure at seeing her again was so obvious that she felt herself begin to relax. It was he who introduced her to his parents and his sister. Paul Lawson was a burly man with a weathered face and surprisingly pale eyes. His grip was steely and his eyes shrewd and he had a much thicker South African accent than his son. Even had not Roger talked about him Tracy would have guessed him to be a man not easy to tangle with in business. Mrs. Lawson, on the other hand, looked rather as she had sounded on the telephone, anxious and possibly nervous of her husband. But judging by her colouring—and by her daughter—she must once have been a beauty.
Julia Lawson had the same fair good looks as her brother. Her naturally blonde hair framed an oval face with eyes of an unusual shade of amber. Yet, although her voice was gentle and her smile friendly, there was something of her father about her.
These were all fleeting impressions as Tracy was welcomed as a new neighbour and given a comfortable chair in the group that was set out on the stoep. A servant brought drinks and soon she was subjected to a barrage of friendly questions about England.
Roger sat back, sipping his drink, mostly silent, for there had been little doubt that he was not as welcome as Tracy. They were not actively discourteous to him, neither did they include him in the general conversation.
Alex was saying, “Tracy has promised to come up to the Game Park. When’s it to be, Tracy?”
She laughed. “Give me a chance! You only suggested it a few hours ago. My head’s too full of fruit at the moment.”
“So you’re intending to run Green Bays, Miss Jamieson?” Paul Lawson’s guttural voice broke in.
She turned eyes, wide with innocence, upon him. “Of course, Mr. Lawson. My father’s great ambition was for the farm to be carried on just as it had done with him.”
“I see.” He paused. “You’ve experience of citrus fruits, then?”
“Oh, no, but I shall learn. It doesn’t really matter as long as Roger is here to look after things.”
Roger gave the smallest smile, but still said nothing, while Paul Lawson’s eyes darted from one to the other. Then he said politely, “Would you care to have a quick look at the nearby parts of the farm, Miss Jamieson? I’m afraid it will be too dark to see the fruit, but there’ll be plenty of time for that.”
While Tracy was murmuring that she would be delighted, almost at a hidden signal Julia Lawson rose and said in her soft voice, “You don’t want to see the farm, Roger, but I’ve got a glorious new hunter that will make you green with envy.”
With a lazy, long-legged movement Roger rose and followed the slim blonde figure. Tracy watched them go, for some reason startled that they were obviously on such friendly terms. Although, come to think of it, Roger had spoken against Mr. Lawson, given the impression that he did not like Alex, yet had not mentioned Julia until they were driving here.
While Mrs. Lawson went inside to supervise the meal, Tracy followed father and son round the outbuildings of the farm. Round in the yard they came upon two workers skinning a calf, and Tracy looked sharply away until she became aware of Mr. Lawson’s eyes upon her. A future farmer, and she couldn’t even stand the sight of a dead calf and a little blood. So she forced herself to look, trying to control the heaving of her stomach.
“Miss Jamieson, have you ever been to a real South African braaivleis, when we roast our meat out of doors, barbecue style?”
“Not since I was a child,” she answered steadily, knowing he was deliberately keeping her standing here.
“Then we must organise one for you. Next time you come home, Alex. We’ll get the whole crowd in and show Miss Jamieson what a tip-top South African party is like. We know how to enjoy ourselves in this part of the world—work hard and play hard, eh, Alex?”
At last Tracy felt she could turn away from the grisly sight. She said, “That sounds great fun. How often do you come home, Alex?”
“I get a weekend leave every so often, but in the season we’re too busy for me to take much time off. And if I have to go to Pretoria on business, then I steal a night off, like today. Would you like to see the calves—the live ones?” he added with an understanding smile.
“Oh, I’d love to,” she said grateful
ly, and let him lead her to the pens while his father walked on ahead.
“Look,” he said, “this one was only born a couple of hours ago.” With gentle but firm hands that were practised with animals, he raised the calf to its feet and let it totter over to its mother. “I’ve tried to persuade Father to raise more stock, but he insists on only enough for his personal use. Perhaps if he did I’d go back to being a farmer.” He added awkwardly, his brown eyes looking down into hers, “I’m glad this happened to be the night I was home.”
“I ... so am I,” she said breathlessly, conscious of how close he stood to her in the little stall. “Hadn’t we better go and join the others?”
“Tracy,” he caught hold of her arm as she went through the doorway. “Tracy, you will come up to the Park, won’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I will, as soon as things are more settled here.”
“That’s a promise?”
“A promise,” she agreed.
They walked back to the house, through the swiftly gathering darkness, in silence. It was strange to remember, Tracy thought, that she had only known this man for less than twelve hours. But then she had only been in Africa four days and events had followed one another at a dizzy rate.
Dinner was a lavish and gay meal. There were three servants to wait on them, and Tracy lost count of the courses, delicious rock lobsters, asparagus, home-killed beef, chicken and a huge variety of salads.
The whole family relaxed, and Tracy discovered that Mr. Lawson had a raw but jovial sense of humour. She laughed with him and she laughed with Alex when he recounted one or two anecdotes of the Park. Roger sat polite and tight-lipped, his rather hawk like face sombre and brooding. She grew impatient with him, beginning to doubt that the Lawsons meant anything but friendliness towards her. And what if Mr. Lawson did want to buy Green Bays? It could hardly be called a crime to make a fair offer.
Across the table she caught Alex’s glance and his eyes smiled deeply at her. Her heart bounced a little. She would need very little persuasion to visit the Game Park.
The evening slipped quickly away until about eleven Roger rose and said in a voice that brooked no argument, “I think we’d better go, Tracy. There’s an early start to be made in the morning—your first full day.” After the goodbyes had been said she followed him to the car, feeling the animosity flaring between them again. He had been moody throughout the evening and his silence had bordered on rudeness. And now, that he should casually tell her when to get up and go ... things obviously were not going to run as smoothly as she had hoped earlier this evening.
“Well,” he said as he swung the car out of the drive and on to the dust road, “what did you think of the Lawsons?”
“I thought they were charming,” she answered coldly, and could not help adding, “There was no real need for you to come after all. No one tried to rob me of my inheritance!”
He glanced down at her set face. “No ... Paul Lawson doesn’t work as crudely as that. Still, as long as you’ve made up your mind where you stand, then there’s no need for me to worry, is there?”
“No need at all.”
Before they parted at the door of Green Bays she asked, “What time do we start work in the morning?” He smiled so slightly in the darkness that she knew he was laughing at her. “I’m usually out and about at seven, but there’s no need for you...”
“Seven o’clock,” she interrupted. “If that’s the time, then I’ll be there.”
Just before she fell asleep she realised she had not heard Roger come in to the house. How strange. She must remember to ask him in the morning.
But in the morning all thoughts of that fled, since she did not wake up until eight o’clock.
When she went out to the orchard to join him he looked at her, as much as to say, “I knew seven would be too early,” but his first words were: “You’ll need stronger shoes.”
He tried to tell her so much in so short a time that her mind reeled with information about irrigation, clearing the orchards of weeds and grass growth, the maturing of different kinds of fruit.
At lunch time, as Tracy walked back to the house with the sun beating down from overhead, she began to wonder if she was trying to take on too much. Her back ached, her head throbbed and all she wanted to do was to crawl into a corner and sleep. Halfway through the morning Roger had suggested she was overdoing it, but, foolishly afraid of her pride, she had insisted on carrying on.
She reached the hall as the phone rang. It was Alex. He had decided to stay at the farm for an extra day and would not be travelling back until later tonight. Would she like to come over for a swim about five o’clock?
A swim sounded just about the most marvellous thing in the world at that moment and she accepted eagerly. She even managed to eat the light salad Noni had prepared without showing her exhaustion. But afterwards she slumped straight down on her bed and slept for an hour. She went back to work in the afternoon, but took things much more easily. At about half past four Roger came to find her and said, “I’ve just realised you haven’t been on a complete tour of the farm. We should have done it this morning, but with the spraying machine breaking down, I got behind with everything. Would you like to make a start this evening, or are you too tired?”
She hesitated, wanting to see everything, yet knowing she could take in only a little at a time. Besides, some imp in her determined not to fall in with every suggestion of Roger Louw’s.
“Tomorrow would be better,” she answered. “I’d like to do it when I’m fresh. In any case I’m going for a swim in a few minutes.”
“The Lawsons?” he said quietly.
“Yes. Any objections?”
He merely shook his head and walked away. Although annoyed with his behaviour, she was also puzzled. Ever since she arrived she had made it perfectly clear that she wanted to carry on running Green Bays just as her father had done. She had not mentioned wanting to sell. Why then should he be so disturbed about the Lawsons? They could not force her to sell. All right, Mr. Lawson could turn unpleasant, but he was far enough away not to be troublesome. The Iasi thing she wanted was bad blood between neighbours, but once the Lawsons had grown accustomed to the idea of her staying, they would have to accept it. No, there lay something deeper in Roger’s attitude towards them, something that she was determined to find out.
As she drove up to the Lawson’s house, Alex, already in bathing trunks, walked over from the pool to welcome her. He looked immensely fit and his deeply tanned skin was a remarkable contrast to his thick, fair hair.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he said. “I imagine you’ve been having a bit of a rest today.”
She laughed ruefully. “I rushed straight into things. If I’m going to be a farmer then there’s a lot to learn ... all my knowledge so far comes from books.”
His eyes crinkled into laughter. “You’ve taken on a big job by the sound of it! You should let Louw run things for you.”
“I expect I will when I’ve got the hang of things.” Julia was also sunbathing by the pool and showed her where to change. Without having a very warm personality she seemed a friendly girl. Tracy wondered whether she had a job, or if she merely lived at home enjoying all the social life South Africa had to offer.
The blue water of the pool was cool and refreshing. Tracy wanted to do little but laze and float until Julia reminded her that even at this time of the afternoon the sun was very strong and sunburn was all too common an affliction. The Lawsons were strong, sure swimmers. As Tracy watched them dive and chase each other across the pool she thought how Scandinavian they looked.
Afterwards, sipping fruit juice under a shady canopy, Julia asked lazily, “Well, what’s your impression of Green Bays?”
“I’ve hardly had time to get an impression of it yet,” Tracy confessed. “I just feel as if I’ve never seen so many fruit trees in my life.”
“And we’ve got just about twice as many. Only we concentrate mainly on oranges for export.” She was looki
ng at Tracy, who could not fathom her expression from behind huge, square sunglasses. “Your father was in the middle of negotiating with us to use our packing station. You’ll have to decide now what you want to do before the season arrives.”
“I ... I hadn’t heard about this,” Tracy replied. “But Roger probably knows all about it.”
Julia leaned back and stretched her legs lazily in front of her. “Oh, Roger’s against anything we suggest. Isn’t he, Alex?”
Alex nodded. “I’m afraid so. We wanted to help after your father died, but he insisted he could manage.”
“No man is an island,” murmured Julia, “except Roger Louw.”
Tracy looked at Alex. “Tell me about the packing business, then I shall know what I’m talking about when I mention it to Roger. Or should I wait to see your father?”
Alex nodded towards his sister. “There’s the expert. She’s the boss of the packing plant. What I should be doing, only I’m not here. It softens the blow for Father a bit to know that Julia’s as good a farmer as any man round here.”
Brother and sister wrangled good-humouredly for a few minutes, then they decided to take Tracy across to the packing plant when they had finished their drinks and were dressed.
Tracy walked across between them, feeling small and slight against them. When they reached the huge, cool shed, Julia took over, explaining exactly how it all worked in a crisp clear voice.
“When the fruit is picked it is put into boxes which are then placed on this automatic belt. Then the oranges come along these wooden slats and through a soap and water bath to clean them. Then they are dipped in chloride of lime to bleach them and kill any germs. Then they pass through hot water on to these rollers which rotate, and you see those brushes there—well, they polish them. After that it’s a matter of grading them, rejecting the fruit that doesn’t come up to standard, sizing them, wrapping and packing in boxes ready for shipment.” She turned to Tracy. “There, I’ve made it as short as possible, but it would be much better if you actually saw the process as it happens.”
