The Reluctant Guest

by Rosalind Brett

  Ann said mildly, “I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned the gate if I’d thought Mr. Mulder did this to you.”

  “He does nothing to me.” Elva slammed the fridge door, and swung round. Her blue eyes had gone hard and opaque-looking. “Let’s be frank with each other. There are only two things on my mind—just two—and you know what they are. You want Theo, or you wouldn’t have come here...”

  “That isn’t true! I like him, but I didn’t come here to try and get my claws into him.”

  “No, I honestly don’t think you did. But you were attracted, just as he was.” A pause. “The second thing is my own concern, but I don’t mind admitting that I’d like some assistance. Storr Peterson is all set to stay here a week or two, but he could easily be called away. While he’s here, I want to make the best going I possibly can. If you’ll help me, I’ll help you.”

  Ann unwrapped a couple of avocado pears. “I don’t need that kind of help, but I’ll do all I can for you.”

  “You promise?”

  Ann hesitated. “Yes, but what would you ask of me?”

  Elva shrugged, said bluntly. “The dinner went down well last night—flowers and whatnot. Storr complimented me later on, and ... well, I let him think the candles and flowers were my idea. It was perhaps a bit rash, but I said I was aiming to improve the whole place a little.” She took an egg from the basket on the kitchen dresser, made a complication of holding it to the light for examination. “You’ve said several times that you’re willing to do anything in the house and garden. Will you take it on?”

  “You mean ... clean up and eliminate the clutter?”

  “And do some redecorating and prettifying. I don’t mind Storr knowing that you’re doing your stint, but I want him to think I’m doing the planning, and the lion’s share.”

  Unaccountably, Ann felt a little fed up. “How would that help you with him?” she asked.

  “You don’t know Storr, or you wouldn’t ask that. He’s proud of that house of his, sets rather a high value on the Dutch and English antiques. I want him to see that I’m capable of making a charming home, even in a small house like this.”

  “But why haven’t you done it before?”

  “I hadn’t the incentive—he was often here one day and gone the next for perhaps a month, and it was seldom that he came in. And then, somehow, the house hadn’t quite got into this state. I’ve been meaning to have a go at it for a long time, but I suppose I was waiting to hear he was back in South Africa.” She smiled grimly. “He turned up out of the blue and caught us looking squalid and I hated it.”

  Ann said wholeheartedly. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Of course I’ll work on it with you.”

  “You may have to do most of it. I didn’t grow up in a pretty cottage with a drawing room; if I were given an empty house I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to set about filling it.”

  “Who furnished this one?”

  “Theo, mostly. He bought up a sale room one day, and we just spread the stuff about.” She ended, with reserve, “You can have an absolutely free hand in the living room, so long as improvements don’t cost more than a few pounds.”

  “That’s fine. We can probably change it within a week.”

  “And the garden?” Elva suggested tentatively.

  “I’ll use Aaron. He can do the hard work outside while I do some of his jobs indoors.”

  “You won’t say anything to anyone about it—not even to Theo?”

  “Of course not. I can get the more noticeable things done while you’re both out running the place. It’s going to be fun!”

  Elva looked at her, said drily, “You really mean that, don’t you? I’ve never met anyone like you before, and when I saw you down at the halt, looking so spruce and clean, although you’d just got off a train, I was inclined to resent you. But maybe you were right; we’re not so different—we were just brought up differently.”

  Ann smiled. “Wait till you see me spring-cleaning. I’m an appalling sight.”

  Elva found a couple of egg boxes and filled them, a dozen eggs in each. She went to the door and called the boy. “Aaron, take those up to the big master’s house, and tell the houseboy we have butter to spare if he needs it.” When the boy had departed she moved across the kitchen “There’s another detail,” she said with studied casualness. “I didn’t thank you for letting me go off alone with Storr last night, but I was grateful. You might keep it up.”

  Ann wondered why her own voice quivered when she said, “All right, I will.”

  “You may even think up some improvements to the situation that I haven’t considered.”

  “If I do, I’ll get to work on them.”

  “Good. And about that gate. I’ll meet Piet Mulder at the end of the lane and let him mend it; then he can take me down into the town for a cup of tea. I don’t want him in the house.”

  “You’re rather hard on the man.”

  “If you’ve nothing to give, it’s the best way to be. I’ll have to get out now and see the land-boy; he’s probably smoking under a hedge.” And she went through the corridor to pick up a cigarette and light it, before wandering out of the front door and whistling up the grey.

  Ann remained in the kitchen, cleaning up the grocery wrappings. Then she looked out some rags—Elva never bought dusters—and carried them into the living room. She was sure that nothing above eye level would bear inspection.

  The room was actually rather daunting. There were the dining-table, almost bare of varnish and badly scored about the legs, the four square-backed chairs with worn rexine covering a flock filling, two ancient armchairs whose tapestry was in fair condition but colorless, chintz cushions, a low table and book case in yellowed white enamel, a few cheap ornaments, a drab rug and several heaps of periodicals and oddments, as well as a mound of mending on still another old table in the corner. On the walls hung a fading photograph of Mrs. Borland, two fly-spotted hunting prints which might have been good if the light had been right, and a square, metal-framed mirror.

  Where to begin was a problem. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to think it out while she eliminated the first eyesore—the heap of shirts and socks that needed repair. By the way some of the buttons were cobbled into position, it looked as if Theo usually tackled the task himself. It was too bad of Elva. Maybe it was true that she had grown up outdoors with few of the usual graces, but no woman reaches the age of twenty-five without acquiring a feminine knack or two, and some sort of conscience where dependent men are concerned. After all, there were only the two of them, and Aaron ran the house. Elva was too keen on careering off on a horse and pitying her own lack of money. But was it fair to judge her? Something had eaten into Elva and embittered her; or perhaps the feeling she had for Storr Peterson had made her restless and intolerant; the man had been away for eight months and presumably he hadn’t written very often, or he would have let the Borlands know he was coming. Ah well, Ann reminded herself, she was only a visitor here. If she could help, she would, but it wouldn’t be wise to become too tangled up with Elva’s problems.

  By lunch time, the mending was finished, the socks put away in the old chest of drawers in Theo’s room and the shirts transferred to the kitchen for ironing. Elva came in and ate her usual large meal, drank brandy with her coffee and remarked, vaguely, that she had work to do down at the fowl-runs.

  Ann said, “I’m going to start away on the room this afternoon. Do you want to keep all these magazines?”

  “I’ve been meaning to go through them, but maybe even the articles I was interested in are out of date now. Some of them are Theo’s.”

  “I’ll put them in the shed, then. Can you afford emulsion paint for the walls?”

  “What else will you have to buy?”

  “Some ordinary paint and varnish stain—not a great deal. And I was hoping you’d run to new curtains and enough material to cover the easies.”

  “They charge the earth for those jobs!”

  “I’d do the
sewing. It’s just the material.”

  “We don’t own a sewing machine.”

  “If I can’t, borrow one, I’ll sew by hand. What about the material?”

  “I guess we can manage it, if that’s all. You’re taking on a load of trouble.”

  “It may take longer than I thought, but it won’t be difficult. I’ll measure up and tell you how much stuff we’ll need. You may be able to choose it tomorrow.”

  “Not I! You do the choosing—paints, too. See what you can do on fifteen pounds.”

  The amount was too small, but Ann nodded. “As far as possible I’ll make the room blue and grey, with a touch of scarlet. All right?”

  “Sounds magnificent,” said Elva with irony. “I think something must have been left out of my composition—I have a man’s aversion for renovations in the home. I’ll get moving. See you at about five.”

  Elva went out, the horse cantered away and Ann sat down to write out a list of necessities for which she would shop tomorrow morning. After that she planned the stages, so that the room would be habitable while the changes were taking place. First, she would push the surplus furniture into her own bedroom, then cover what was left and clean down the walls. Once the room was clear of dust she could work at several jobs concurrently.

  She found a scarf and bound up her hair, changed her dark slacks for a pair of disreputable denims borrowed from Elva’s room and her blouse for one of the faded check shirts. In the shed she found an old step-ladder, a bucket and a few tools, and thus armed she returned to the living room and got busy. She had cleaned the cobwebs from the ceiling corners, brushed down the walls and window-frame and stacked the moth-eaten books from the case ready for carting into the kitchen for overhaul, when Storr Peterson’s estate car drew up on the path.

  Ann stopped dead with her arms full of books, thought for a mad moment that she could drop the lot and lock the door but somehow could not move fast enough to do anything at all. Consequently, when he gave his usual light rap and opened the door, Storr was confronted with a scene of dire disorder and a girl who looked like a column of dog-eared literature with a thin startled face on top and worn denims rolled up at the ankles with flat black slippers to finish off the effect below.

  “Miss Calvert?” he said, heavily polite. “I hardly recognized you.” He took the books. “Where do you want them?”

  “Since you’re here you may take them to the kitchen for me,” she said coolly. “You might put them on the table in there. Elva said I could repair them for her—it’s one of the few things I do rather well.”

  “Really?”—still with satire in his tones. “Aren’t you being a trifle modest? I’m sure you do artistic embroidery and play the piano.”

  Ann ignored this. He dumped the books and came back for the second stack. She heard him turn on a tap, presumably to wash his hands, and took care to appear idle when he returned to the room.

  He pushed his hands into his breeches pockets, looked about him. “What’s going on?”

  “Elva’s re-planning the room.”

  “Glad to hear it. Where is she?”

  “She had to go out for a while. I thought I’d get on with the books.”

  His dark lean face quizzed her. He nodded at her get-up. “Trying to get the feel of things?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Clothes don’t make the farming type, you know, and I should imagine the little housewife in your circle wears flowery overalls. What are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing.” She paused pointedly. “Did you want Elva, particularly?”

  Just slightly, his eyes narrowed. “I came for two reasons, and one of them concerns you. I’ve had another call from Theo. He’s been advised to have his wrist X-rayed, and is going down to the hospital at Port Elizabeth. I told him it was wise.”

  “I see.” Ann drew in her lip. “It must be rather bad—his wrist”

  “He said not—it was just a routine piece of advice from the doctor and Theo thought he’d better follow it. We haven’t a hospital in this district.”

  “I suppose it means he’ll be away for longer than we thought?”

  “Four more days, he said. I was to tell you how terribly sorry he is.”

  “Thank you.”

  His regard was speculative. “That’s a pretty good poker-face you put on, but it doesn’t suit your age. I don’t think I’ve ever known two girls so different from each other as you and Elva. I can see what it was that got Theo.”

  “I should imagine that you could work out a motive for almost everything, Mr. Peterson. What was your second reason for coming—or isn’t it my business?”

  “Yes,” a little sharply, “it concerns you. By tomorrow, my house will be sufficiently organized for me to entertain a few friends. I’d like you and Elva to come in for dinner.”

  Ann was unprepared, yet straightway she began to fabricate an excuse for declining. Then it occurred to her that a last-minute withdrawal might be wiser. So she said, “Thank you. You’re very kind.” And hoped he would go.

  But Storr, apparently, was in no hurry. He got out cigarettes and offered them, flicked on a lighter and held the first to Ann’s cigarette and then to his own. His look at her was faintly arrogant, but keen.

  “Do you like your job in Cape Town?”

  “Very much. I’m lucky to have one that provides variety.”

  “What do you do, exactly?”

  “Three-quarters of the time I’m in the small office attached to the riding master’s house. I answer enquiries, get out accounts, pay the bills, do a little social entertaining when parents drop in to watch progress.”

  “And I suppose that manner of yours gives the place a certain tone,” he suggested mockingly. “What made you apply for such a post?”

  Ann lifted her shoulders. “We were new to the country and I answered a few advertisements. Back in England I’d worked for a few months in my brother-in-law’s office, and as a child I used to spend my holidays with grandparents who kept a couple of horses. My experience was sketchy, but I was taken on and more or less groomed for the job.”

  “You certainly sit a horse well.”

  Ann felt a sudden sharp throb in her throat. She drew on the cigarette before asking carelessly, “Do I? How do you know?”

  “I saw you turn up the lane with Elva this morning. You looked a bit stiff, but quite a picture. Elva, of course, always looks part of the animal, but she never had a riding master. She’s a natural horsewoman.” He sought an ashtray and she found a stained metal thing and put it on the window ledge, in front of him. Then he said, “I suppose you have all the appropriate accomplishments. Do you play tennis?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Go dancing?”

  “Only seldom. When Theo was...”

  She broke off, and he said softly, “Yes?”

  Offhandedly she stated, “I was only going to say that we did dance a few times while he was in Cape Town.”

  “What else did you do—shows and beaches?”

  “Of course.” And then quickly and defensively, “He was a wonderful companion—quite the nicest I’ve ever had!”

  “All right, little one. I believe you. If he hadn’t made a whale of an impression you wouldn’t be here, trying to make your presence felt in his house.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Steady, there! I’m only stating the obvious. Elva may be planning and carrying out the alterations here, but she wouldn’t have thought of it if you hadn’t put out a few hints.” He gave her a maddening smile. “You want Theo to realize what a home should be like. And aren’t you lucky! He’ll be away long enough for you to have the place gleaming with polish and paint by the time he returns. That should rate a proposal within a week or so.”

  “You’re very clever, Mr. Peterson, but on the wrong track. The idea of making a few changes here in the house was entirely Elva’s. When you eventually see the place gleaming with polish and paint you may gi
ve her all the credit.”

  “Very well, I’ll accept that.” But he sounded as if he had still to be convinced. He grinned provocatively. “You wish I’d go, don’t you?”

  Ann hesitated. “Not exactly. I just don’t understand you.”

  “You haven’t tried. Are you shy—or frightened?”

  “Why should I be frightened?”

  “You’ve lead a correct and fairly sheltered life,” with sarcasm, “and some men are dangerous—your mother said so.” He switched suddenly from the topic. “Did you fly to South Africa?”

  “No. Flying is expensive, and in any case, my mother needed the cruise.”

  “Haven’t you ever flown?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take you up some time. You’ll like it.”

  “Do you come here in a plane?”

  “Mostly, though this time I used the wagon. I can land a small plane on a strip that’s about twenty miles from here. The Airways Company operates only from the Transvaal.”

  “Do you ever do the trips abroad yourself?”

  “Not now. We started seven years ago with only two planes. Theo took one and I the other. We’re running five now, and five crews, with a few spares. The venture has grown into an organization and it’s less interesting. You don’t know how good it is to be back at Groenkop.”

  Ann suppressed an urge to look at him. She hadn’t thought of him as having emotions and heartfelt preferences, and the fact that he admitted, to a stranger, that Groenkop was more to him than just the family home, somehow made him a little more normal than she had thought him.

  She put a question, impersonally. “I suppose you took up flying as a sort of reaction from Belati?”

  “Partly. It was twelve years ago and the family were here then. I still have the same foreman—an Afrikaner who knows Groenkop down to the last mealie stalk. He lived here in this house, but when Theo took over I had another built for the foreman at the other end of the lands. He rated a nice new cottage, and anyway, his family was too big for this place. He’s a great chap with sheep.” He paused and added tentatively, “Isn’t this supposed to be a holiday for you?”