by Anne Hampson
Why should she keep thinking of the glamorous Magda? Lena was asking herself when, later, Kane was driving her home, along a lane where water, mingling with the dust that had accumulated in the ruts, splashed up to paint the car with ochre-coloured mud. It seemed that the girl’s constantly intruding image would always be present whenever Lena and Kane were together.
‘This rain will do an enormous amount of damage,’ Kane was remarking, going on to say that torrential rain of the kind they had just had invariably washed away valuable top-soil from the farmlands.
‘Yes, Gerald was explaining that to me.’ The storm that had raged for over an hour—rather longer than Kane had expected—had ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun, leaving a clear sky from which the stars twinkled, bright as pure white diamonds.
‘We’re rather lucky in this region of the Transvaal, though,’ said Kane conversationally, ‘because we often have quite friendly showers—as we tend to call the gentler form of precipitation.’ He went on to add that he supposed she had already learned that there was no real summer or winter here, but only a dry season—the seven or eight months of the year when the weather was colder—and the wet season from November to March when, the sun being at its highest here, in the Tropic of Capricorn, the rain reached torrential proportions.
‘The air must be very dry indeed during the dry season you spoke of,’ she said, her attention caught suddenly by fireflies glowing in the bushes on the roadside.
‘It is indeed, which of course makes it stimulating to a very high degree.’ A pause and then, ‘Do you think you’ll still be here in March, when the seasons change?’
‘I’m not sure. As I’ve said, it depends mainly on my getting some sort of a job—and of course, on whether or not June and Gerald want me to live with them permanently,’ she thought to add.
***
Lena supposed that it was only natural that June should evince a considerable amount of curiosity and interest when she heard that not only had Kane accompanied Lena around his grounds, but had invited her into his home to partake of refreshments.
‘I had concluded he was just allowing you to roam around,’ she added, her green eyes fixed on Lena’s face. ‘He does throw open his grounds accommodatingly like that, if anyone expresses their appreciation of them, but never has he been known to take the time and trouble to entertain the sightseer, as he appears to have gone out of his way to entertain you. You’re greatly honoured, I assure you!’
Lena, conscious of a strange palpitating sensation, as though her heart had begun to beat rather faster than was normal, lowered her long, silken lashes, in order to conceal her expression from the inquiring and puzzled gaze of her friend.
‘Yes, I suppose I am greatly honoured.’
‘What did you find to talk about in all that time? Kane’s such a taciturn man as a rule.’
‘We talked about the various trees and flowers; he told me where they came from originally—those that are not indigenous to Africa, that is—and how they came to be brought here. He’s most interesting to be with,’ added Lena without thinking.
‘I’m sure,’ drily and with a note of satire to her voice.
‘We also talked of my intention to make your garden gay and attractive,’ Lena informed her. ‘Kane’s going to let me have some plants and cuttings.’
‘He is?’ June, who was sitting by the window, stitching rings on to some new curtains she had made, pursed her lips and said strangely, ‘You appear to have made a hit with our austere neighbour. Magda’s not going to take kindly to any poaching on her territory—’
‘June,’ broke in Lena quiveringly, ‘what are you talking about!’
‘Magda’s wildly jealous of any woman who even so much as looks at Kane, let alone who manages to attract his attention… as you have undoubtedly done.’
‘It’s only because of a mutual love of nature—and of beautiful gardens,’ protested Lena—but her thoughts had wandered back to the little scene which had taken place when Magda, having admitted to overhearing the conversation between Kane and Lena, had adopted a distinctly hostile attitude towards Lena.
‘A mutual love of nature—and all things beautiful, you say?’ June’s voice held an odd inflection. ‘Others have been interested in his gardens, as I’ve just told you, but never has he struck up a friendship with them because of it.’
‘Nor has he struck up a friendship with me.’ Lena found she was tensed inside, vitally aware of those stirred emotions she had experienced before. It annoyed her to be forced to admit that she was deeply affected, not only by Kane’s actual presence, but even by the mention of his name.
‘It looks very much as if it’s drifting that way.’ June slanted her a look and, with a hint of a frown creasing her forehead, Lena turned away, automatically taking up a needle which June had already threaded.
‘I’ll help you with these hooks,’ she offered, changing the subject. ‘How far apart are you putting them?’
Taking the hint, June talked of other things, but after dinner when Lena was strolling in the silent moonlit garden, making plans for its rearrangement, she dwelt on June’s words, and wondered at them. Was it possible that a friendship could spring up between herself and the strong, silent man who owned Koranna Lodge? Undoubtedly it was a pleasant thought—but a disturbing one as well. Kane was altogether too attractive, too potently masculine.
No fool, Lena admitted that an analysis of these emotions she was experiencing was best not carried out; the result of this conclusion was an admission that a friendship with Kane could become dangerous…
‘But I’m probably being fanciful, anyway,’ she whispered to herself as, reaching a low wall, she sat down on it. ‘The superior Kane Westbrook would never want to strike up a friendship with anyone so uninteresting as Lena Ridgeway.’
Having set her mind at rest on this point Lena sat for a while enjoying the perfumed tranquillity of an African night, a deep silence prevailing one moment, while the next was filled with a medley of strange yet fascinating sounds of night life in the forest—the fluttering of bats’ wings or the cry of night-birds, the scared call of monkeys disturbed in their tree-top slumber, the weird whistles and hisses coming from the throats of animals unnamed and unseen. Fireflies glowed in the straggly acacia hedge; a pair of bright eyes moved in the darkness of the weedy patch of canna flowers, then disappeared again. Away in the distance, to the left of the line of gaunt stony kopjes, the lonely native village could be placed by the twinkling lights coming from the huddle of low thatched huts. The ribbon of the Klein Umgola shone in the moonlight as it meandered past the village, winding through a deep, mimosa-filled channel which Lena had already explored. Glancing upwards, to where a myriad stars shone from the unbelievably clear African sky, Lena saw, to the south of Orion’s belt—and set amid the three stars forming bis sword—a cluster of stars resembling a miniature Milky Way. Dreamily she gazed at it, wondering just what it could be. Perhaps, she thought, it was the famous Orion nebula, which could ordinarily be discerned only with the aid of binoculars.
More noises fell upon her receptive ears—whispers from the darkness around her, a strange call from somewhere on the lonely veld, followed by a sound like the ringing of a bicycle-bell which Lena knew belonged to a nocturnal bird, for she heard it several times before. The night-wind in the trees, the distant echo of a drum beat, melancholy reminder that this was essentially a primitive region of the vast dark continent.
Into the air broke another sound, a sound rising to a shrill crescendo before breaking off abruptly in a gargling cry reminiscent of someone being strangled. A captured creature, gentle and innocent, falling victim to the sharp fangs of the predator? Or was it merely the cry of a tree-hydrax, a creature no larger than a rabbit but who, June had told Lena, made the most bloodcurdling noises at night.
Whichever it was, it caused Lena to shudder, and she rose and made her way back to the lighted stoep on which June and Gerald were sitting, each engrossed in a boo
k.
CHAPTER FIVE
As promised, Kane came over to Mtula Farm to look at Gerald’s newly acquired fields and advise him on what to put in in the way of crops which would increase the fertility of the land in this, its first season.
‘They’ve been gone so long that I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything wrong.’ June, standing by the window waiting for the men to appear from out of the belt of oak trees that separated the main farmlands from the new fields, spoke without turning her head. ‘I hope we haven’t bought something that’s going to be a white elephant.’
Joining her at the window, Lena was in time to see the men emerge from the trees.
‘We’ll soon know. I do hope everything’s all right.’ She also hoped she sounded cool, collected… she certainly did not feel that way, not with the prospect of meeting Kane again within the next moment or two. His tall impressive figure coming out of the shade cast by the trees into the sunlight, he took on the appearance of some exalted god as he strode with that easy gait towards the homestead. He was talking to Gerald with now and then a gesture over his shoulder indicating the fact that he was making some suggestions regarding the fields. As the two men drew nearer and their expressions could be seen, both Lena and June uttered little sighs of relief.
‘It’s obviously all right,’ breathed June before Lena could make the same observation. ‘Thank heaven for that!’
‘What exactly could be wrong?’ Lena wanted to know. ‘The soil, or something?’
June nodded her head.
‘It could be impoverished by all that wild vegetation that’s been allowed to grow on it. Also, numerous pests can live in those thorny bushes, pests which can be most difficult to get rid of.’
‘But you’d get rid of them eventually, surely?’ Lena was thinking of the farmlands around here in general; all had once been nothing but the bushveld, covered by scrub and such things as thorny mimosas and stunted wattles. Many pests must have found homes here then.
‘Oh, yes, of course. But we want to crop the land this year, and if we do have pests and impoverished soil then we shan’t be able to.’
‘I see.’ Lena’s eyes were still on Kane as he came towards the house; she noted the straight broad shoulders and trim waistline, the firm implacable jaw, the slight pucker between his eyes as if he were frowning slightly, the sun on his brown hair bringing out highlights of colour which Lena had never noticed before. ‘You’d have to treat the land first?’
‘That’s right.’ Opening the french window inwards, June greeted the men as they came up the steps on to the stoep. ‘I take it everything’s okay?’
‘The land’s not what one would describe as in good heart,’ replied Kane, his eyes travelling over June’s shoulder to where Lena stood, shafts of sunlight gleaming on her hair, bringing out several shades of russet and bronze and honey-brown which, when her hair was dulled by Lena’s being run down as a result of overwork, had not been visible. ‘However, we’ve made a thorough examination of the fields and there seems no reason why Gerald shouldn’t crop them this season.’
‘Maize?’ queried June.
‘Gerald wants to try cotton—’
‘Oh, but you get all those dreadful pests!’
‘I believe Gerald will be able to grow cotton successfully.’ Cool the tones now; Lena gained the impression that Kane regarded June’s intervention both as interfering and unnecessary. His manner was a plain indication of his contempt for the opinion of a female, decided Lena, her glance straying to June who, although she had coloured a little at the idea that she had been put in her place, was calmly asking Kane what he would like to drink.
The four of them sat on the shady stoep, drinking iced fruit juices, the two men talking about land and crops, labour and prices, while the two girls merely listened, June shrugging now and then, and making a face when she was sure of not being seen. Lena, amused, merely waited for Kane to give her his attention.
This he did, eventually, transferring his gaze to her face and saying, almost abruptly—and certainly with a peremptory inflection to his voice,
‘Are you ready, Miss Ridgeway? If so, we’ll wander around the garden and see if we can’t come up with some suggestions.’
‘Fine.’ Her heart was fluttering, her fingers faintly unsteady as she placed on the table the empty glass she had been unconsciously holding in her hand, her whole attention being concentrated on Kane.
Refusing to meet June’s gaze as she rose from her chair, Lena went lightly down the steps, followed closely by Kane.
‘One of the first considerations in this part of the world is shade,’ Kane was soon telling her as, standing by a windbreak, he gestured with his hand. ‘This should be an excellent place for your rose garden,’ he added, saying that the windbreak, being composed of a double row of tall trees, would provide the essential shade needed for the roses she wished to grow. Having told him that she had ordered them from town, Kane had nodded his approval; roses would grow very well in this soil, he had told her. ‘Providing you water them regularly,’ he went on to add. ‘Water and shade are the two chief considerations when making a garden.’ He was walking on; Lena beside him. How tall he was! And how inordinately distinguished-looking! Even as he was, dressed in dark blue denims, with a white shirt whose sleeves were rolled up beyond the elbow, he looked every inch the gentleman, aristocratic and abounding with confidence.
‘I thought of having this area as lawn,’ she told him as they stopped on a weed-ridden path to survey a large patch of sun-dried grass. ‘I think it was once a tennis court.’
‘I can’t recall a tennis court being here in my time,’ he frowned. ‘Have you asked about it?’
Lena shook her head.
‘No. I keep saying I will, but then I forget.’
‘It could be a lawn,’ he agreed, scanning the area and assessing its size. ‘But why not have a tennis court rather than something purely ornamental? You’ve already decided on one lawn.’
‘A tennis court?’ She smiled up at him, a wry expression in her eyes. ‘Won’t it be rather too hot here for that kind of strenuous exercise?’
‘Not at all. Tennis is a summer game in your country anyway. We have tennis courts at the Club; I thought you knew that.’
‘But you haven’t a tennis court,’ she pointed out.
‘Not at present. But I intend to have one. My cousin, Jennifer, has been wanting one for some time.’
‘Your cousin,’ murmured Lena, recalling that it was this cousin’s clothes which Kane had given her on the day she had fallen into the river. ‘Will she be coming soon?’
‘Next week, as a matter of fact. She likes to have all her holidays with me.’ They had begun to move on again, and Kane made several suggestions which Lena would never have thought of herself. ‘You want bougainvillaeas climbing up those pillars,’ he said, pointing to the homestead. ‘Purple’s a rather lovely colour to have near the house. Over there, you want a windbreak of oleanders. I’d mix the colours if I were you. Use pink, rose and red, leaving out the white on this occasion. A whole hedge of white would form a most attractive background over there for beds of poinsettias. I’ll get you some of the double red variety—plenissima. They have extra large blooms which last a long time.’
‘A white oleander hedge, and a bed of poinsettias…’ The whole finished picture rising in her mind. Lena looked up at Kane with glowing eyes. ‘It’ll be wonderful,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Westbrook, for all the suggestions, and the trouble you’re taking to help me. And more than anything I want to thank you for the plants you’re giving me. How lucky I am!’ This last exclamation came out spontaneously; Kane glanced down at her, meeting those beautiful eyes that still glowed with the anticipation of achievement.
‘You’re a most extraordinary person,’ was his quiet pronouncement. ‘This enthusiasm for creating a garden for someone else is quite exceptional. I admire you for it,’ he added, bringing a most attractive flush to her cheeks. Lowe
ring her head, she dropped her gaze and stared at the ground, fervently praying that Kane would not speak for a moment or two. She required time to regain her composure.
On another occasion, while they were wandering around the garden, he making suggestions and Lena asking questions, Kane bestowed another compliment on her which again threw her into enchanting confusion. She suddenly wished that he would refrain from complimenting her, that he would keep to the impersonal attitude which he almost always adopted towards other people.
‘What have I said to make you blush?’ The question came unexpectedly, since Lena, having turned from him immediately the compliment was voiced, had sublimely assumed that her heightened colour had escaped his notice.
‘I—er—nothing, Mr Westbrook. I don’t know what you mean?’
‘I’ve just remarked on certain traits of your character,’ he reminded her in his quiet, richly timbred voice. ‘I said that I find these traits rather attractive.’
‘Y-yes,’ she murmured, her eyes on the dusty path they were now traversing, slowly and with care, avoiding the small boulders which having been washed down from the terrace by the torrential rains, had been left lying on the ground.
‘I appear to have embarrassed you.’ The hint of apology in his voice was rendered ineffective by the more pronounced edge of satire. Aware that he was amused by her reception of his compliment, Lena felt her cheeks become even hotter. How would the sophisticated Magda behave in such circumstances as these? Lena felt convinced that her ready tongue would have produced some swift and fitting rejoinder. All Lena could find to say was, after spreading her hands in a gesture of negation,
‘Not at all, Mr Westbrook.’
To her surprise he appeared to accept this. He said, a rather strange inflection to his voice,
‘Did you know that character shapes one’s destiny, Miss Ridgeway?’
Startled by the question, she made no answer. And when eventually she did speak it was to ask a question.
