by Jan Andersen
“Roger, what is it?”
But she did not need to be told. The hissing sound of rain had changed to a more strident one, as if someone was pelting the corrugated iron roofs of the outbuildings with pebbles. “Hail!”
“That’s right,” he snapped, “and if the hailstones get any bigger we’ve got a ruined crop on our hands. We might have controlled red scale, but we can’t control the elements.”
Well, at least I can’t be blamed for that!” she returned, but she was as worried as he was as the noise battered away at their ears. Mr. Rens had told her of a hailstorm near Johannesburg where the stones were as big as golf balls and had hammered in the roofs of cars.
When Roger turned back into the house his shoulders were slumped. “Well, we can’t do anything, neither can we assess the damage until it’s light, so I suggest you go back to bed. Even if it isn’t as bad as it could be there’ll be a lot of extra work tomorrow. Good night,” he said curtly, and was gone before she realised he had in fact come into the house to see if she was all right and she had not even thanked him. Once again they got on the wrong foot with each other.
In spite of the interrupted night Tracy was awake at six. She scrambled into her clothes and raced down towards the orchards. Not surprisingly Roger was there before her.
“Well,” she said breathlessly, “is there any damage?”
“It could be worse,” he said grudgingly. “Dinga says the west orchard is the worst hit. I haven’t been over there yet.”
Though he did not suggest that she should come she followed nevertheless, trudging behind along the red muddy furrows from which clouds of steam were already rising. The irrigation channels were filled with water, so were the ditches dug round the base of each tree. It should have been a sight to gladden any citrus grower’s heart.
Over in the far western corner, they both stopped dead. This was where the worst of the storm had struck. Foliage was ripped from the trees and the ripening fruit was lying cradled in the muddy ground. It looked as if about an acre of fruit had been ruined.
Roger looked about him, examining, assessing, his mouth tight with disappointment. “And I thought this was going to be a bumper year. I told your father it would be.”
“You can hardly blame yourself for this,” she told him. “It would have still happened had Father been alive.”
“Perhaps, but the farmers round here are superstitious—or rather the Africans are—and they say that once in a while you get an unlucky farm. Something causes it, and until you remove the cause it will live with you.”
“And when do you think your run of bad luck started?
He darted a look at her, recognising the challenge in her tone. “I didn’t say Green Bays was in for bad luck.”
“No ... but your hint was pretty obvious.”
“Tracy!” He caught hold of her arm in an iron grip. “You don’t honestly think I’m suggesting that you...”
Her violet eyes had deepened into anger as she shook off his arm. “I don’t frankly know what you’re suggesting, but I hardly think that one little hailstorm, however unfortunate, need bring forth these dire forebodings. You made yourself very clear what you thought of my taking over the farm when I first came. I doubt that you’ve changed your mind. No, don’t say anything, please, we might both say something we regret. I’m going back to the house for breakfast.”
He stared at her, shaken, bewildered as if the hailstorm had hit him, not the fruit, but she did not dare wait for a further clash—or even an apology. She squelched back to the house, not very far from the edge of tears, and she could not for the life of her think why she should feel like that.
Noni took one look at her sandals and bare legs encased in mud and threw up her hands in horror. “Oh, missie, you must never go like ... you do not know what lies in the mud when the rains fall. Come, I will pour you hot water and wash the dirt away myself. Next time, master must get you boots!”
Meekly, Tracy allowed herself to be led to the bathroom and washed like a child. Roger had not suggested she should be wearing boots! Perhaps he hoped a snake might come along and nip off her toes. She giggled slightly at the ludicrous thought and some of the tension left her.
The telephone rang just when Noni called her for coffee. She recognised Alex’s voice with surprise and delight. They talked for a moment about the hailstorm, which had apparently passed over the Reserve before it reached White River. Then he said, “I was hoping to persuade you to come up here in the next couple of days.” When she made no reply he rushed on, “I have to make a complete tour before the northern part of the Reserve is open for the season. It would be an excellent opportunity for you to see the place at its best... few people and lots of animals. What do you say, Tracy?”
“Well, it sounds marvellous,” she replied, but the thoughts were whirling. She needed to get away from Green Bays, to get things in perspective. If she were to go on working with Roger Louw they had to get over their disagreements. A breathing space at this very moment might be just the answer.
“So you’ll come?” he said eagerly.
“I’d love to,” she answered before she could change her mind. “How do I get there and when do you want me to arrive?”
They arranged that he would pick her up at the main gate about four the following day so that she would have a few hours to acclimatize herself and be ready for an early start the next morning.
As she collected her things together for the trip she hummed a little tune, knowing that her happiness came not from leaving Green Bays, but from seeing Alex again.
She was still gay when she met Roger at supper that night. They had both put in a hard day’s work in the orchards, but at least it had washed away her ill temper and Roger’s surliness.
“So we’ve only lost about an acre?” she said brightly, when Noni brought in their meal.
He nodded. “Yes, I hear that Lawson lost about five. We were both lucky. Dinga tells me that Pretorius, a biggish farmer a few miles further west, has had the bulk of his crop ruined.”
“Oh, how dreadful! Is there any likelihood of more storms before the fruit ripens?”
“I doubt it. This was a freak one anyway. We’re at the end of the rainy season. Not much more can trouble us except an outbreak of red scale.” He allowed himself the ghost of a smile.
Because she was happy she wanted to apologise. “I’m sorry about that,” she said impulsively. “I acted before I thought yesterday, but Mr. Lawson seemed so sure ... is red scale really as bad as that?”
“It’s pretty bad once it gets a hold. The insect is almost too small to be seen with the naked eye, but a female can reproduce about three hundred times before you know what’s happened. Then there’s real havoc.” He twisted his glass idly in his hands and without looking at her said, “Noni tells me you’re going off for a few days. I hope it’s nothing I’ve said or done?”
“Not really.” She tried to be honest with him, and with herself. “But I think it might be a good idea to leave you to get on with things for a while. While I’m away I just want to get things in perspective. When Alex Lawson invited me up to the Reserve, it seemed just the thing...”
His head jerked up. “So you’re going up there?”
Her voice cooled. “Yes. Any objections?”
“Of course not.” But his tone belied the words.
She leaned forward. “Tell me, Roger, what is it exactly you and Alex have against each other? And your dislike seems only to extend to the male Lawsons, but not Julia ... yet she’s an integral part of their farm. It strikes me as sheer pigheadedness.”
He sighed. “Maybe you’re right. But I wish you’d known your father for just a little while. Then you might see that some of his ideas have rubbed off on to me, that I didn’t dig up these petty quarrels singlehanded. I suppose it would be no use advising you not to go.”
“To the Reserve or with Alex?” she snapped. “Forget it. I’ve learned already that you’re a young woman of singular
determination. I doubt that anything I could say would change your mind.”
“I doubt it too. Would you like your coffee here, or on the terrace?”
His dark eyes met hers squarely. “In the study. I find I have some paper work to do.”
Tracy put in a long morning’s work the next day—at least she could not be accused of slacking—then after lunch and a quick wash she threw her bag in the back of the car and drove off. Roger was working in the top orchard, but he did not even lift his head at the sound of the engine.
Forget him, she told herself, forget his awkward, difficult, cussed ways for a few days. It came to her as she drove to the open highway that she probably needed this break even more than she thought. She had worked almost continuously in a strange climate ever since she arrived, and all that on top of the news about her father. If only she could find Uncle George!
Perhaps when her mother came out in a few weeks’ time, it might be something for her to do.
She drove through magnificent scenery of pine-covered mountains and glistening waterfalls until the summit of a winding pass opened up a panoramic view of the Lowveld several thousands of feet below. Up here the air was cool and fresh, but down there she would meet the real heat for the first time.
Just about an hour later she drove along the final straight stretch of road which led to the main gate. She slowed down, explained to the guard who she was looking for and within seconds Alex roared up in his truck.
“Tracy!” he took both her hands in a warm welcome. “So you’ve made it after all. I kept thinking that something might go wrong. I’ve made arrangements that you should garage your car here and we’ll go on in mine. Is that all the luggage you’ve brought?” he said, pointing to her holdall.
“Well, you told me to travel light,” she laughed. “I took you at your word—slacks, shorts, a dress and toilet things!”
He looked amazed. “If I told Julia that it would simply mean she would bring one large suitcase instead of two—but don’t stand in the sun like that. You’ll probably find the heat in the Reserve pretty oppressive. It’s been well over one hundred and ten for the past few days.”
They left her little car under the shade of a bamboo shelter and she climbed into the truck feeling nervous and excited all at the same time.
“All right?” Alex pressed her arm briefly.
She nodded. “Will we see anything today?”
“Very little,” he told her. “It’s not really worth stopping because tomorrow you’ll see so many animals you’ll soon think you’ve had a surfeit of them. But I’ll drive slowly and keep my eyes skinned for you. We’ll be at the camp in about forty-five minutes.”
The dust road wound through bushveld, thick undergrowth in parts thinning out to patches of scrubby grass, and the first moving things that caught Tracy’s eye were the roller birds skimming gracefully through the trees with their long slender tails and blue and purple plumage. Then there were tiny scarlet birds that hovered near a water hole, and in the same area Alex pointed out the drooping nests of the weaver birds, huddled in groups, made from bullrushes and hanging from the branches of the trees.
Suddenly she was even more alert as something streaked across the road in front of the car, “Alex, what was that?”
“That,” he said gravely, “was an impala. I’ll go even more slowly and you’ll see the herd follow in a moment ... there you are!” And as he spoke dozens of the reddish-brown animals raced across the road many making the high graceful leaps they were famed for.
“Oh, but they’re enchanting,” Tracy cried. “How could you not be excited by them?”
He stopped to let the last of the herd pass in front of the truck, resting his brown arms on the wheel. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “Tracy, when you know there are probably more impala in the Reserve than there are cats in London you don’t think they’re any less enchanting, you just tend to take them for granted. I promise you that by tomorrow lunch time you won’t be taking any more notice of them yourself. I’ve taken too many people through the Reserve not to know that.”
“I see,” she said a little sheepishly. “I didn’t think of that. But I’d still like to photograph them,” she added, “only I’ve got my camera at the bottom of the bag.”
“Tomorrow,” he said again. “Tomorrow we’ll be able to stop as often as you like. There’ll be lions for you to stroke, and hyenas...”
“... to nip off my fingers,” she finished with a chuckle. “I’ll try to wait patiently until tomorrow.” They were at the gates of the rest camp in another fifteen minutes, having seen nothing but a few more impala, a buck and a couple of blue wildebeeste barely visible through the trees.
As soon as Alex had parked the car in the shade a cheerful-looking African came and took Tracy’s bag, leading the way to one of the little round houses with thatched roofs that were scattered evenly round the paths.
“This is your rondavel,” Alex said, as the boy opened a netting door that protected a small verandah. Inside was a second door which led into a small but well fitted bedroom. “Your home for tonight. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”
“Oh, I shall,” she assured him. “Why, I never expected anything as luxurious as this.”
“It’s just the start, I’m afraid,” he grinned. “It gets a bit rougher as we go north. What would you like to do—have a rest, or a look round, or even a swim? I have to finish working out my schedule with the boss here, but I should be through about six. I could get one of the other lads to look after you, if you like...”
“Please, no,” she said quickly, “I’m fine. I’d like to browse for a moment, and a swim sounds a wonderful idea to shake off all the dust. Where do I go?”
“Follow the path round the main building and towards that group of trees. It’s about a hundred yards beyond. At the other side of the main building there’s a terrace with some tables and chairs where you can order drinks—soft, I’m afraid, as there’s no alcohol allowed in the camps. I’ll see you there as soon after six as I can.”
Tracy sat down on the bed. The transitions in Africa were so great she could not quite believe she was in the middle of a huge natural park surrounded by wild animals that she had only ever seen in the zoo.
But after a few minutes she began to realise that although the hut might be comfortable, it was also very hot indeed. Not a breath of air came through the windows.
She stripped quickly, putting on her swimsuit and slipping shorts and blouse on top of it, then she made her way along the path Alex had pointed out.
There were only a few people at the pool, a couple of children splashing about and a scattering of sun-bathers. The pool itself had been cut from the natural rock and was like a shallow basin with just enough depth to swim in the centre. From the sloping rock above it a clear stream emptied, sending gentle ripples across the surface.
Tracy wasted no time, but plunged in, swam to the far side, then floated lazily, feeling the sun on her face and the cool water beneath her back. What would Roger be doing now? Collecting the men for the final spurt of the day? They had quite a good labour force, reliable enough, but they had to be watched or else they forgot what they were supposed to be doing.
A picture came unbidden into her mind—the ripening oranges lying broken and forlorn in the mud. And Roger’s set, angry, almost despairing expression. What a strange man he was, difficult and unyielding, ungracious and intolerant and—probably because of these traits in his character—very much alone. She had heard him speak of no friends, no relatives. She did not even know where he came from or what he did before he came to Green Bays.
She swivelled on to her front and lay in the shallows. It was too disquieting to think of Roger. She had come here to get away from him and the worries of the farm. Now Alex ... the thought of him filled her with quiet pleasure. With Alex there were no complications of a cut and thrust relationship, but a warm and relaxed friendship. And the way he had looked at her today...
�
��Tracy!”
The almost jumped out of the water. He was there, just above her, grinning down at her startled face.
“I’m sorry. Did I make you jump? The paper work had moved more quickly than I thought. And when the boss heard I’d left a pretty girl to go swimming by herself, he practically threw me out of his office!” She laughed happily. “Are you going to come in?”
“No, too lazy. My trunks are at the other camp, or else at the bottom of the truck. I shall just sit here and watch you.”
“I’m just coming out,” she teased.
“Even better. I’ll watch you sunbathe.” He reached down and helped her up the rock. “It’s quite a spot, this, isn’t it?”
“Marvellous.” She rubbed at her face and hair with a towel. “Don’t you get any prowlers?”
“Oh, an occasional leopard comes at night to try to get a nibble at the odd swimmer or so. But they like their humans plump...” He stopped abruptly, seeing Tracy’s face. “I’m sorry, did I frighten you? Honestly I was only joking. No one’s ever seen a leopard here.” She shook her head, seeing those bright tawny eyes looking down so sleepily at her, yet so intent. “I know,” she said at last. “I wasn’t scared of what you said. I was just remembering...” And she told him of the early morning encounter at Green Bays.
He was shocked. “A leopard at Green Bays? I’ve never heard of such a thing—well, at least not for the past twenty years.”
“It was a leopard all right.” She shuddered. “And I hope the last one we’ll see there.”
“But how did Roger Louw let it slip by? Admittedly he wouldn’t have been expecting anything like a leopard but it’s not unknown for a smaller animal to be seen around the farms, hyenas for instance and of course buck, but any efficient patrol would surely have seen the leopard’s spoor. Do you have a patrol?”
