by Jan Andersen
IN the morning she struggled into wakefulness before she was ready for it. An African girl brought her tea at six and told her that the master was waiting. She gulped the tea and, only waiting to splash her face with cold water and slip on her clothes, she went into the next room to find Alex drinking coffee and looking apologetic.
“I’m sorry to rush you,” he said, “but a call has come through on the radio asking me to get back as soon as possible. How soon do you think you can be ready?”
Not for another couple of hours, if she really told the truth. “About ten minutes,” she answered.
She did not even have a chance to speak to Sally, who had already left for the hospital with Pieter, but on the way Alex told her that the doctor had once more been reassuring.
With an effort Tracy asked, “I don’t understand yet how Pieter came to be caught like that?”
“He was one of the first to go looking for Ian, and remembering how much Ian loved water had headed for the river. It was just dark when he heard Ian crying and as he ran towards him he never saw the trap. Those damn poachers—they’re thoughtless, vicious men who deserve just about the worst punishment we can mete out to them. We’re going to have an all-out assault on them immediately. That’s why I’m being rushed back to H.Q.”
They were back to the main camp within about an hour and a half. There was no time to notice the animals this morning. Besides, Tracy sat most of the time with her eyes closed, conscious of a throbbing head and arms that burned with pain when she moved them. When they arrived she sat on the terrace toying with a cup of coffee, wondering how she was going to get back to the main gate and her own car.
Alex provided the answer about fifteen minutes later. He told her he had found an American couple who would be leaving shortly, and did she mind travelling with them? She shook her head. What else could she say?
“I’m sorry about the way this has ended,” he said anxiously, “but you do understand, don’t you? We’ve simply got to find those men who did that to Pieter. If we move in swiftly we might have a hope. I’ll be home for the weekend shortly and I’ll get in touch with you.”
“Goodbye, Alex, and thanks for a wonderful couple of days. But I would like to know how Pieter’s getting on—and Ian too.”
“I’ll ring or send a card.”
She watched him go, feeling foolishly depressed. Of course he was worried about his friend, and last night had been ghastly, but he had still shifted so abruptly into another world that cut her right out. And it was not until she saw the American couple walking towards her that she realised he had never even asked her how she was.
Tracy drove thankfully up the dust road that led to Green Bays just before lunch. She felt if it had been another mile she simply could not have made it. As it was she knew that strictly speaking she should not have been driving at all, with the effects of the sleeping drug not completely worn off.
She dumped the car in front of the house and had not even the energy to lift her holdall from the back. Noni’s happy greeting died on her lips when she saw Tracy.
“Missie, what has happened ... you look white, white like a sheet.”
“Nothing, Noni, at least nothing to me. There was a bit of an accident. But I think I would like to go straight to bed.” Then, realising she had had nothing to eat since yesterday and that could be part of the reason why she felt dizzy, she added, “Perhaps I’ll have a little lunch first, just cheese and fruit.” She walked slowly up the steps, hardly seeing where she was going, and scraped the wall with her arm. She cried aloud with the pain, making Noni positively leap back in her tracks.
“Missie, what is it?” And she looked so stem that Tracy was forced to roll her sleeve up and show the strips of plaster all down her arms. “Wait there, missie,” she commanded, and Tracy, thinking she had gone to find fresh plaster, was only too glad to slump on a chair.
A few minutes later Roger strode into the house and taking one look at Tracy said to Noni sharply, “Get the doctor.”
Tracy pulled herself together. “I’m perfectly all right,” she snapped. “I had the doctor last night.”
“Last night is not today. Go on, Noni, get a move on!”
“How dare you ignore me like that?” Tracy flared.
“Because you’re in no condition to make your own decisions, that’s why I’m ignoring you. Here, drink this.” And he passed her a brandy.
Roger Louw always seemed to be handling her brandy. If she had not felt so awful she might have summoned a laugh. As it was the last thing she wanted was brandy, and she pushed the glass aside so sharply that it smashed to the floor. It was almost as though that little action was the last straw. She promptly burst into tears.
Wordlessly Roger led her to a comfortable chair and handed her the coffee which Noni had had the foresight to heat up immediately. She gulped at it gratefully, jabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief Roger had also handed her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “so terribly sorry to do that. I think I’m just lightheaded. It must be nearly twenty-four hours since I’ve eaten ... and after last night...”
In a surprisingly gentle tone Roger said, “I shouldn’t have barked at you. I was worried, that’s all. And to make you cry like that ... you make me feel ashamed. And I should damn well think you are lightheaded—here, Noni’s fixed you some soup. And by the time you’ve got that inside you the eggs will be ready.”
The soup put new life into her. She focused properly for the first time. Why, he did look worried. His black eyes were tense as he watched her.
“What happened, Tracy?” he asked at last.
So she told him, from the moment the news about Ian’s disappearance had come through on the radio until the doctor ordered her to bed. “I think,” she said shakily at the end, “it was the lion that finished me. I wasn’t frightened at the time, I was probably past it, but then seeing it bound into the clearing and start to lick up the blood ... All the time I was driving here I kept thinking about it, and the awful mess the snare had made of Pieter’s leg. And little Ian having to stand there seeing his father in all that pain...”
“Poor little devil! Let’s hope he forgets it quickly. It sounds as if you made yourself more than useful.”
“Oh, no.” She sounded surprised. “I just happened to be there, that’s all, and could get help quickly.”
“Too quickly, by the look of those arms ... ah, here’s the doctor. That was fast work.”
The burly man who had walked in the door answered, “You caught me as I walked in my door for lunch. Now, who’s the patient ... ah, yes, I can see.” All the time he examined and dressed her cuts again he talked about White River and its history, forcing her to concentrate on what he was saying instead of wincing every time he hint her.
When he had finished he commented, “Well, a couple of those cuts are deeper than they seem. A nasty experience you must have had. But you shouldn’t have got up this morning—nor should you have driven home in the state you were in. You’d had a heavy sleeping draught and you were suffering from the tail end of shock. People must have been mad to let you come. Good mind to get in touch with the Park doctor and give him a piece of my mind.”
“Oh, please, no,” Tracy protested, thinking how it might come back on Alex. “Everyone was so worried about the child and Mr. Vorster...”
“Hmm, well, if that’s the way you feel about it. I should have a good nap this afternoon and no work for the next couple of days. I’ve been hearing how much you’ve been doing here, so promise me—take it easy.”
“I promise.”
“I knew your father,” he said as he snapped his bag shut. “He was a fine man. Should have lived long enough to see his daughter. Showed me a snapshot of you once. Doesn’t do you justice, though. I’m glad you and young Louw are carrying on with Green Bays as he wanted it. Wouldn’t have liked to see this place fall into stranger’s hands.” With a wave of his hand he was gone.
Noni poured her another
cup of coffee and this time Roger joined her. He too looked more relaxed, and even grinned when she apologised for biting his head off.
“I’m getting used to it. It was your turn, wasn’t it!”
“I’ll think up an answer to that one tomorrow, when I’m properly awake. And talking of tomorrow,” she added more soberly, “I wonder when I’ll hear how Pieter Vorster is? There was still the slight doubt that he might have his leg off.”
“We’ll ring tonight, if you like. And now, off to bed with you, and neither Noni or I want to see you before dinner.”
At the bottom of the stairs she paused, worried. “I’m not going to be much use for a couple of days. Just when you’re busy...”
“Oh, we’ll find you something useful and quiet to do, don’t think you’re getting off as easily as that?' he replied cheerfully.
Afterwards, Tracy was not quite sure how she passed the next two days. Neither Roger nor Noni would let her do very much, so she finished sorting out her father’s papers, cleared out other things in the house and got through a huge backlog of letters. In just three weeks her mother would be arriving, and Tracy did not want too much to remind her of the husband she had not seen for eight years.
In a jumble of papers at the back of a drawer she found a more recent photograph of Uncle George which she put carefully away in her wallet. It might prove useful when she was trying to find him.
When she came downstairs on the first evening she found that Roger had already phoned the Park and learned that Pieter Vorster was ‘comfortable,’ there was no cause for anxiety and no question of amputation. He had also taken the trouble to learn that after a day in bed Ian was not much the worse for wear and even a little proud of his adventure, but asking plaintively for Daddy every so often.
Alex did not phone for three days, and when he did all the time was taken up with telling her how they rounded up a couple of poachers, but there was reckoned to be a gang to blame for most of the snares in the south of the Park. He gave her much the same news about Pieter and ended by telling her he would probably be home the weekend after next.
The cuts healed quickly and in such a wonderful climate Tracy felt normal in less than two days, but she kept her promise and did not try to start work again until the full time was up. Then by six o’clock on the third day she was out in the orchards supervising the irrigation.
That month passed swiftly and the work was hard, but Tracy found a deep satisfaction in watching the fruit mature. Roger told her that within another three weeks the early navels would be ready for picking. Then, he added, she would see a change in the place as the army of pickers moved in, noisy happy people who genuinely enjoyed the work and to whom fruit-picking time was as good as an annual holiday.
She and Roger had slipped into an easy relationship and it began to look at if their earlier troubles might be over for good. It was rather like an unspoken agreement that they were both working for the good of Green Bays, and as long as that were so they must stick together.
Then, one morning, they both received invitations from the Lawsons to attend a braaivleis, the open-air barbecue so popular in South Africa that she had heard about. The date set was the night Alex was due home from the Reserve for the weekend.
It sounded fun, and she suddenly realised there had been no real relaxation since she had gone to the Reserve. She had met a few of the local people, but mostly friends of her father. Soon, she knew, she would have to do some kind of entertaining at Green Bays—perhaps when the fruit was picked, as a kind of celebration.
The evening of the party was hot and dry, but in this part of the country the nights were rarely oppressive. She felt Roger had been reluctant to accept, nevertheless he drove her across to the Lawsons’ with good grace. He had told her that dress for these does was strictly informal and it would be perfectly in order to wear slacks, but since she wore these all day for working around the farm she decided on a plain linen dress, not fussy, but comfortable.
Roger smiled when he saw her. “I like girls to look like girls in the evening. And that colour suits you—bit like the oranges!”
“That’s not very flattering!” she protested, “but I suppose you wouldn’t know any better.”
“Touché!” And they both laughed. Quite obviously they needed to get away from routine occasionally. They met mainly at meals, and then most of the talk was about the progress of the fruit and the things that Tracy still wanted to know.
When they reached the Lawsons’ and joined the crowd on the lawn she looked eagerly round for Alex. Then Julia, dressed in gold lame slacks and a gold silk blouse, greeted them, saying, “I’m afraid Alex hasn’t arrived yet; something must have held him up at the Park. Come along and meet the crowd.”
After a few introductions Tracy was quickly the centre of a group of friendly South Africans. How easy it was to be sociable here. When she turned round again Roger had left her side and was strolling across to the swimming pool with Julia’s arm tucked possessively into his.
Some time later when the charcoal fires were heated ready for the steaks she found Paul Lawson by her side.
“Well, Miss Jamieson, what do you think of our national pastime so far?”
“It’s a wonderful way of entertaining,” she answered. “The smell is almost too delicious. But I should be scared to try this at Green Bays—why, you must have near a hundred guests here.”
“Don’t you know yet how we enjoy doing things on a big scale? Big country, big parties!”
She laughed. “I’m learning that I shall have to forget quite a few of my English ideas.”
He lifted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and insisted she had it. Then he said dryly, “Well, you’ll have to forget a few English ideas if you’re going to run Green Bays successfully. It’s hard work, isn’t it?” He looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what, she nodded. Miss Jamieson, I’m still willing to make a high offer for your farm. But I’ll go further than that—I’ll offer you shares in my company and a seat on the Board so you could still keep an eye on things round here.”
“But I couldn’t do anything like that,” she said quickly, “until I find my Uncle George.”
“Do you really believe you’ll find him now? You’d do better to forget him and go ahead on your own. I imagine your father tried to find him and your solicitor has been advertising for him. How long since anyone has heard of him—seven years?”
“I believe so,” she answered, wishing he would talk about anything but this, but uncomfortably aware that he was her host so she could hardly be rude to him. Then she added, “As a matter of fact I intend to go down to Kimberley as soon as I can to follow up a clue I had down there.”
His voice was suddenly affable again. “Well, let me know when you’re going, Miss Jamieson. I have some influence down there and might be able to introduce you to one or two helpful people. Kimberley’s a bit of a village, you know. Know the mayor and you know everybody.”
“Thank you, I’ll remember that. Roger tells me we might have a lull before picking begins and I could go down then.”
There was a sudden excited cry that the steaks were ready, so, much to her relief, Paul Lawson drifted off to make sure that his other guests were served. She was given the biggest steak she had ever seen and had begun to help herself from the huge platters of salads on a long trestle table when she felt a touch on her arm and looked up to find Alex beside her.
For a moment they just looked at each other, then both started talking at once. At last, laughing, Alex was able to apologise. “I’m sorry I’m late, Tracy, so sorry, but the Warden sent for me just as I was getting ready to leave. Are Dad and Julia looking after you?”
“I’m having a wonderful time,’’ she answered happily. She was, too, now that he was here.
“So am I,” he said softly, “so am I.”
They found some seats a little away from the crowd, taking with them plates piled high with the delicious-looking food. Alex tried to tell h
er about the Vorsters, the last couple of weeks searching for the poachers, but so many of the guests greeted him that they laughingly gave up trying to talk.
“We’ll get away from them afterwards,” he promised. “I’m forgetting that I too am a kind of host. Just seeing you made me forget everything.”
There seemed to be no end to the dishes that were pressed upon them, and Tracy marvelled at the vastness of the South African appetite, yet she had seen no signs of plumpness. When she had commented on this once before to Roger he had reminded her that it was nearly all meat and fruit and salads—strictly non-fattening, so no one felt they had to watch their figures.
After Tracy had eaten the last morsel she went inside to wash the fruit juice from her fingers. Like the rest of the bungalow the Lawson’s bathroom was fitted with every kind of gadget. There was even a small automatic spray for toilet water.
Much refreshed, she wandered outside again, but realised she had come through a different door at the side of the house. As she hesitated, wondering whether to go back or make her way round by the farm building, two figures emerged from the shadows. There was no mistaking the glitter of Julia’s gold outfit. Even then she would have taken no notice had Julia not said in her most winning voice, “But, darling, it wouldn’t be nearly as crude as that. You’d be in complete charge of the place and Father would be certain to put you on the board of the company. He has a very high opinion of you.”
Tracy held her breath, pressing into the shadows by the doorway. Julia’s companion couldn’t be Roger, surely it couldn’t ... but a second later his voice replied, low but clear: “Well, you certainly make it sound a most intriguing proposition. I’ll have to think about it. But things are tricky at the moment...” They passed out of earshot and Tracy heard no more.
Tricky because she was around, Tracy thought bitterly. She had expected Roger to scoff at the proposition, to laugh at it ... but to offer to think it over. What sort of double game was he playing? For that matter, what sort of double game were the Lawson’s playing? Only a week or two ago Mr. Lawson had expressed his contempt for Roger in no uncertain terms. Now his daughter was telling Roger how highly her father thought of him. Was Mr. Lawson lying, or did Julia think she would get her hooks into Roger more easily if she held such an appetising carrot in front of him? Whichever way it was, it showed her that to put complete trust in Roger was foolish. He might be a good farmer, but his ambitions would govern every move he made.
