by Mariska
The whispering Palms by Rosalind Brett
It takes a very special type of courage to admit defeat, but Lesley and her father now had to face the inevitable. Two tobacco crops had failed, and reluctantly they must sell up and start again elsewhere. But the buyer of their farm was Fernando del Cuero, chief engineer of the nearby hydroelectric scheme. And Senor del Cuero announced that the valuable mineral, berillium, had been discovered on their land. Lesley was unwilling to profit from an industry that would ruin the beautiful land she loved, and was instinctively antagonistic to the man who had stepped in and taken over their lives. But she found events slipping out of her control. The arrival of Virginia, her elder sister, disturbed her deeply. This glamorous young woman's actions were always self— interested. She came to Africa anxious only for what she could take, not what she could give.
This story was written in , and the Africa of today is much changed. Yet its beauty, its everlasting fascination, were as irresistible then as they are now.
Chapter I
IT'S no use minding," said Lesley, her tone resolute. "We've decided
to sell, up, and I suppose we must count ourselves lucky to get the
price we're asking. It will pay off our debts and go a long way
towards a bungalow in Buenda. I do wish, though," with a rueful smile, "that the farm hadn't sold quite so quickly. It's only a week since we advertised it."
Her father looked up from the desk through which he was systematically searching. He saw her clear profile against the window, her short, fair curls with the hint of red in the waves, and the slim lines of her shoulders, and he answered with a sigh, "I haven't done too well by you, have I, my dear? You were just getting nicely established with those advertising people when I hauled you out to Africa."
"You couldn't help being ill."
"We might just have taken a holiday in the South of France. It would have helped. But instead we fancied ourselves as tobacco farmers, and what a first-class hash we've made of it!"
Lesley's eyes shone. "It's been a marvellous experience, anyway," she declared. And so, in many ways, it had. She had never pretended to herself that it had made her happy to give up the career upon which she had scarcely embarked, but her father's illness had swept away most of her personal desires. When a specialist had pronounced it essential that Edward Norton should spend a year or two in a warm climate, Lesley hadn't hesitated. Her sister Virginia, of course, had been furious. Surely, she'd said, it would have been sufficient to transfer Father from the North of England to an hotel in Bournemouth or Torquay? How was she possibly to entertain her friends at the weekends if there was to be no cottage to take them to? Lesley must realise that it was fatal to be without a home. It was so foolish to panic; other men got over these prolonged illnesses in England, and there was no reason to believe that Father would not do the same.
The odd thing was that Lesley, who had never in her twenty-one years defied her older sister, now found herself completely deaf to Virginia's selfish logic. She had answered her unemotionally. "If you don't want the trouble of keeping on the cottage, that is your affair. The doctor recommended a high altitude location in a subtropical climate, and that's where we're going.'
There hadn't been much money, but the firm of auditors with whom Edward Norton had been employed, had generously made him an advance on his pension and guaranteed that a job would be there for him when he came back, which had rather lessened the sense of risk.
Never, if she could help it, did Lesley look back upon those first weeks away from England. Her father had weakened and rallied and weakened again. Intrigued by their first experience of Africa, they had moved up from Durban to the north-west of Natal. Then they had read about Amanzi Farm, which was near a place called Buenda in Central Africa. Excellent soil, three thousand feet above sea level, and near a river which flowed into
the Zambesi; there was a good brick and stucco dwelling, and only a quarter of the purchase price need be found at once. By post they took an option on the farm, and thereafter, by easy stages, they travelled up the continent and at last came to the scattered little town which gave its name to the Buenda district.
Although they had known nothing at all about tobacco-growing, their
first year's tussle with eelworm and the disease known as wildfire would have
given them enough experience to succeed with the second year's planting.
Other factors had crept up on them, however, and most of the next
crop had been lost through damp rot. Two bad seasons were more than
they could possibly finance. As for ploughing up and planting again, it was
out of the question. Fortunately, Lesley was gifted with a sense of proportion.
They had settled in Buenda because the air had suited her father better
than that of any other place they had visited. The warm, invigorating
winds which flowed off the mountains into their rooms had put a faint glow
into his face and a spring in his step, and the sun had tanned and toughened
They had an abundance of fresh, plain food, and good neighbours in
The Pembertons, whose tea plantations roamed over the adjacent hillside.
Sometimes circumstances cast a person
in a certain role — and the world accepts,
and looks no deeper. Lesley was the younger sister,
the shy, self-sacrificing one . . . But her dreams,
her desires were her own, guarded and precious
After all, they had come here in order that her father might regain his health, not to make a fortune out of tobacco. Naturally they had no wish to leave Amanzi; even in two years one could come to love the house and the views from the windows, the little beds of flowers, and that beauty of the darkness which is peculiar to the wilder parts of the subtropics. But nothing really counted beside the fact that Edward Norton was happy and well.
BY now her father had found the inventory of out-buildings and implements he had been seeking. He flattened it out on the desk, and Lesley
came to his side and leant over it with him. "The curing-shed will have to be repaired by us," she said, "and I'm not sure that some of the implements aren't missing."
"Seeing that this Spaniard is going to pay up without a quibble, it's only fair that we replace the missing items. However, I'll talk that over with him when he comes this afternoon."
Lesley straightened, to lean thoughtfully back against the desk. "Doesn't it strike you as odd, a Spaniard buying a farm he hasn't even seen, in Central Africa?"
"He's living only thirty miles away, and according to his letter the man has driven along our boundaries a hundred times. He's viewing 'today, before signing anything binding." Her father smiled at her. "You'd better be nice to him when he comes. He can still withdraw the offer."
Lesley half-wished that that was What the man would do. When they had first advertised the farm a small gleam of hope had lain in the back of her mind; that whoever bought Amanzi would be willing to be friendly with the Nortons, so that they need not sever all connection with the tobacco lands. This man Fernando del Cuero killed that hope. He was in charge of the new hydroelectric scheme which had been materialising during the past months at the Kalindi Falls. The contractors were an English firm, but this Señor del Cuero was connected with them financially, and also reputed to be something extra-special in the way of engineers.
He was supposed to be coming at three. Did Spaniards drink tea? wondered; and what did they eat with it? Well, there were tea, scones, and coconut biscuits, and if he didn't like them he could leave them. Upon which drastic conclusion she went to the kitchen and prepared the tea-trolley, covered it with mosquito-netting, and told Solomon, the houseboy
, he was free till six o'clock. Then she went out into the blazing afternoon and walked down from the small garden into the sloping pasture where the two horses were grazing in the shade of the hedge of mopani bush. She walked swiftly, the tan linen skirt swinging about her slim hips, her tailored white blouse tucked in neatly at the waist.
She sighed as she felt the hot sun on her back. Her feelings about Africa were mixed. She was more grateful than she could have said for the difference the hot climate had made in her father, and an affection had grown in her for the mountains and the wild little river, the thick-growing jungle, and the occasional herd of game which could be seen on the distant plains below the mountains. Yet - she wanted something more than life offered here. Her father had grown accustomed to a leisured life of semi-retirement, but how was she to get along with nothing to do, and no chance within a couple of hundred miles of earning a living? A bungalow with four rooms and a handkerchief-sized garden wouldn't keep her occupied, and she couldn't help looking ahead to the time when their money would have dwindled. For an auditor, her father was awfully impractical, but she hadn't the heart to persuade him to go home to a desk in a dim office.
Lesley made her way along the edge of the fallow fields which had yielded diseased and stunted tobacco. She looked back at what she could see of the house. It was square and white, with bougainvillaea climbing up one corner and well over the green painted iron roof. By this time she was too hot to go farther, and she turned back towards the house. Just in time to see the cloud of dust from the road which announced their caller.
Lesley did not hurry. She knew her father was waiting on the small veranda, and thought it might be as well to let them get their meeting over while she was absent. Besides, she felt reluctant to meet this Spaniard, to whom, apparently, money meant so little that he could buy a farm by post. She took her time, entered the house by the back door, and put a match to the ring on the paraffin stove. She turned the flame low, washed her hands, and went through to the living-room.
Lesley was unprepared for Fernando del Cuero. He was tall, and had a proportionate width of shoulder and hip. He was dark, of course, but not so jet dark as most of his compatriots; in fact, one would have described his thick hair, ironically enough, as only a few shades darker than tobacco-brown. And his face! Lesley had never before seen so much strength and vitality in one set of features. It made her feel weak just to look at him. His chin was fearless and angular, and his jaw might have been carved from seasoned teak. His eyes were so piercingly dark, so impossible to evade, that her gentle blue ones were unwillingly magnetised. He was overwhelming.
"This is my daughter Lesley," said her father, his brows quizzically raised. "Señor del Cuero, my dear."
"How do you do," she managed.
Fernando del Cuero gave a small practised bow. "I have seen you before, Miss Norton. You once came to the Falls with a party of young people."
"So I did," she admitted. "But I'm certain we didn't meet you."
"No. I saw you from my veranda. I am using the white bungalow near the power house. Some of your friends, if I remember, were a little vocal about their disapproval."
Lesley went scarlet. She remembered the incident very well. However, she answered him with spirit. "The power house has spoiled the Falls, and the men showed their resentment." A bad beginning, thought Lesley. Her father was smiling humorously and indicating chairs, and she hurriedly sank down with her back to the window, while their visitor took the chair at the other end of the desk.
Edward Norton gave a brief description of their fruitless two years, to which the other man listened politely, occasionally offering a remark. His English was perfect, his voice deep and pleasant, and just sufficiently foreign to make it interesting.
"Perhaps you'd like to take a look round now?" said her father at last.
Fernando del Cuero leaned forward and smiled charmingly. "Mr. Norton, I decided while you were talking to be very frank with you. If I had wished, I could have bought your little farm and told you nothing of my plans, but now that I know you I do not think that would be fair, whatever the price."
"You sound very mysterious."
"There is no mystery, I assure you." He paused, cast a fleeting glance
across at Lesley, and then addressed himself exclusively to her father. "You have heard of beryllium, Mr. Norton?"
"Don't they use it as a neutron source in atomic physics?"
Fernando's smile warmed. "You have read about such things? You are a man after my own heart. Some weeks ago I had a geologist friend staying with me. At my request he took samples of granites—some of them close to your boundary—and he has crushed and analysed them. Those nearest your farm were found to contain beryls of good size, and there is reason to believe that there is an exploitable quantity to the north, nearest the river."
"Good heavens!" Edward Norton stared at him. "Then the farm must be worth much more than we thought."
"Exactly. My offer to take the farm at your price was a matter of form, until I could discuss this with you. The discovery is important to Central Africa and to Britain. I suggest we form a company; that you sell the farm to that company and retain an interest."
Edward Norton was so staggered that he merely lay back in the chair at the desk and tried to take it all in. But to Lesley, who hadn't the smallest knowledge of such things, the fact of there being crystals of beryl in the granite outcrops which scarred the farmlands was unremarkable, though she was prepared to believe the stuff might be valuable. However, she saw the personal aspect more clearly than the business one, and for Fernando del Cuero she had conceived the sort of aversion which nourishes distrust. He knew too much, this man, and he was too suave. "Don't you think it would be best to get a Government geologist on the job?" she asked.
Fernando looked at her. Patently, he was not in the habit of allowing women to interfere in his plans, and possibly he considered it a mistake that she had been present at this interview. "My friend is a Government geologist," he said, with exasperated patience. "His name is Madison. His mother and mine were sisters."
There followed a short silence, during which Mr. Norton's bewilderment became tinged with a mild astonishment. Obviously he found this current of enmity which flowed between his normally gentle daughter and their caller somewhat incomprehensible. Quietly, with the vestige of a twinkle, he suggested, "As Senor del Cuero is half-English, he might like a cup of tea, Lesley."
She went straight to the kitchen and turned up the flame under the kettle. Away from the man she could absorb more readily what he had just said, and she found that her knees were beginning to tremble and a nerve to jerk in her throat. In a wild flight of imagination she saw her father happily engaged in a fabulous business venture and their financial worries overcome. It was sad, though, to think of lovely Amanzi becoming a scar in the fertile greenness. First the beauty of the Kalindi Falls was being wrecked by the power house and barrage, and soon the savanah would be marred with transmission lines and splodged with transformed substations.
The next step was mining gear and swift-growing, ugly towns. Good for the prosperity of the country, maybe, but all this beauty would be sacrificed.
She made the tea and placed the pot on its stand on the trolley. For a moment she stood there, listening to the men's voices in the next room, and then decisively she opened the kitchen door and wheeled in the trolley.
FERNANDO politely got up, placed the trolley where she wanted it, and stood beside her while she poured. He insisted on giving the first
cup to her father, and when they were all served he spoke to Edward Norton, as if continuing a conversation. "It would be best if we register the whole claim at once. My cousin, Neville Madison, is on long leave, and I know he would like to work the surface here for a few weeks before we arrange finance. Therefore it would be competent, perhaps, if I bought a half-interest in the farm for the time being, at a figure to be arrived at with a lawyer. The rest can be arranged when we form a company. You a
gree, Mr. Norton?"
Mr. Norton nodded, but waved a hand to include his daughter. "Lesley will have to agree, too. She brought me here, and she's done more of the farming than I have. Sometime I must tell you just how much she has done for me."
"I'm sure Senor del Cuero wouldn't be interested," she said quickly.
"On the contrary," he replied smoothly. "If your father and I are to have business connections, there is no reason why they should not be friendly. After all, I may be instrumental in helping to make you . . . not rich, but comfortably off."
"I'm not sure that money which grows out of ugliness is worth having."
"NO" He was smilingly undisturbed. "It depends on which is the more beautiful, progress or stagnation. Industry will bring prosperity to the people of this district. You cannot halt that kind of thing; it has to happen, and I, for one, am proud to work towards that end."
When her father had finished his tea he stood up. "If you're not in a hurry, Señor del Cuero, I'll look for that book I mentioned. It has quite a long section on beryllium."
"Please," said Fernando. "I would be glad to borrow it."
When Edward Norton had gone, a strange little hush settled over the room. Lesley put down her cup and hoped her father would not be long.
"I believe you wish you had already sold Amanzi to someone else," Fernando said. "It is very unreasonable, your attitude, and seems to be based on the fact I am not English. Do you not like the Spanish?"
"You're the first I've ever met, but I've heard they're a friendly and hospitable people."
"Yes, they are like the country itself. The people of San Feliz, which is an island belonging almost entirely to my family, are some of the finest
in the world, and they have an affection for the English." He let a few seconds pass before adding, purposefully but with complete courtesy, "You must get the correct angle on this project, señorita. It is fortunate that you and your father happen to be the owners of Amanzi at this time. A year or two either way, and you would have had no share in whatever might come out of the land. For my part, I am glad that after two years of failure you are to discover that the farm will not be unrewarding."
