Handful of stardust

by Yvonne Whittal

  The living-room was empty, but Emma Bryce met her in the hall, her manner less disapproving and an unmistakable warmth in her grey eyes. 'I've taken the liberty of selecting a few things from Nadine's wardrobe for you to choose from. You'll find them in your room.'

  'Thank you very much, Mrs Bryce. I think if you don't mind, I would like to retire to my room. It's been rather a tiring day.'

  'Of course, my dear,' she nodded understandingly, 'and call me Aunt Emma. Everyone does.'

  There was a genuine warmth in her voice that brought swift tears to Samantha's eyes as she stammered her thanks. 'You're very kind, and it would make me very happy to call you Aunt Emma.'

  They could hear Brett closing the doors leading on to the stoep and, noticing Samantha's nervous glance in that direction, the older woman gave her a gentle push towards the stairs. 'Off to bed with you. You've had enough for one day.'

  Samantha smiled at her gratefully and fled upstairs, not stopping until she reached the privacy of her room. Aunt Emma was right, she had had enough for one day. Enough of Brett's arrogance and mockery, enough bitterness and anger, and enough disappointment at her father and Gillian's contribution to her unhappiness.

  Later, dressed in the frilly lace nightgown which had

  been laid out for her, Samantha lay staring into the darkness, nursing the unfamiliar stiffness that was setting in from her ride and with a mind too exhausted to think as she watched the moon spread its soft glow across her bed. Too much had happened, and all of it disturbing. Beware of stardust, Rosa had said. Was it merely the ramblings of an old woman, or did it have some hidden meaning? she wondered, sighing heavily.

  There was nothing as blissfully silent as the Karoo nights, and nothing more soothing for a mind bruised by tortuous thoughts. Samantha closed her eyes in these unfamiliar surroundings and allowed the silence to wash over her, lulling her into a false state of serenity until she drifted into the oblivion of sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Brett left the homestead soon after breakfast the following morning, but arrived back in time to have tea with Aunt Emma and herself on the stoep, and Samantha could not prevent the flicker of admiration that passed through her as she glanced at him surreptitiously. Despite the fact that he was wearing khaki drill trousers and bush jacket, he looked as immaculate as always, and somehow such a part of this vast semi-desert country.

  'Would you like to come for a swim with me?' he asked, wiping the perspiration from his brow with a spotless handkerchief. 'There's a natural pool in the vlei that we always use for this purpose.'

  'You're forgetting I've brought nothing with me, and that my clothes haven't arrived yet,' she reminded him coolly.

  'I dare say I could rustle up a swimsuit for you,' he said drily before disappearing into the house.

  Aunt Emma shrugged her shoulders at Samantha's doubtful glance and removed the tray to the kitchen while Samantha followed Brett upstairs with some trepidation. There was no knowing what he would 'rustle up' as he had put it, and she was beginning to wonder if it would not have been wiser to decline his invitation.

  Brett met her at the top of the stairs, a towel hanging about his neck. 'I've left something in your room for you. I'll be waiting out at the back for you, so come down when you're ready!

  He disappeared down the stairs and Samantha turned warily towards her room.

  The 'something' he had mentioned turned out to be the minutest dark green bikini she had ever seen, and she blushed crimson just looking at herself in the mirror. If it had not been so suffocating hot, and the thought of a swim so tempting, she would have thought twice about wearing the scanty garment Brett had found for her. It was perhaps also some of Gillian's devilment that had rubbed off on her over the years that prevented her from shying away from the idea of appearing like that before Brett. She might be short, she thought, surveying herself in the mirror, but her figure was good. Her breasts were small and firm, her waist slender, her hips rounded perfectly, and her legs shapely. There was nothing Brett could find fault with. As if she cared, she added to herself defiantly.

  She found a pair of denim slacks in the cupboard which she had to roll up round her ankles, and a brightly coloured blouse which she left hanging loosely over her belt. In a hurry now not to keep Brett waiting, she slipped on her shoes and grabbed a towel before hurrying down the stairs and out to the back.

  'Over here ! ' Brett called as she emerged from the house, and she glanced across to see him standing beneath the old oak tree holding on to the reins of his own magnificent white stallion as well as a grey mare. 'If you're going to learn to ride, then you might as well start now.'

  'Brett, I can't!' she exclaimed, her throat tightening with fear as she came forward hesitantly.

  'Coward ! '

  This was too much ! She could take Brett's mockery, but she was not a coward, and she steeled herself to stretch out a hand and stroke the mare's neck. It was a

  pleasant sensation to feel the smooth coat beneath her fingers.

  `What's her name?'

  `I call her Meisie—Girl,' he translated for her haughtily.

  'I can understand Afrikaans,' she informed him, meeting his glance with a shade of anger in her eyes. `Don't treat me as though I were illiterate!'

  `Don't be so touchy,' he rebuked her, lifting her into the saddle as if she were no weight at all. `Meisie is very tame, so you have nothing to fear. Just do as I tell you and soon you'll be riding like an expert.'

  `Brett,' she began with rising panic, 'what if I fall off?'

  `My dear child,' he laughed mockingly, `no one has ever fallen off Meisie, so stop imagining all sorts of mishaps and do exactly as I tell you.'

  It was a nerve-racking ride down to the vlei, but it was fun. Under Brett's firm guidance she soon began to feel secure as she watched her movements to the rhythm of the mare, while her muscles objected to this unaccustomed exercise.

  `Relax your hold on the reins slightly,' Brett instructed at one stage. 'You've got her pulling at the bit and it can hurt her mouth. That's better.'

  Samantha knew that she would never forget that unusual but pleasant smell of leather and horseflesh, combined with the spiky odour of the veld. It was an experience she would not have exchanged for anything else in the world at that moment—riding with Brett in the hot Karoo sun, and seeing a side of him few others knew of. This was his kingdom; it was where he belonged, and not in the harsh business-like world where she had met him and once thought him such a part of.

  `We're almost there,' he interrupted her thoughts,

  and she glanced in the direction he was pointing to see a shady pool, protected from the glare of the sun by the willow trees growing on its banks.

  Brett dismounted first and helped her down before tethering the horses to a tree. They stripped down to their costumes and Samantha turned warily to follow Brett into the water, only to find that he appeared in no hurry to enjoy the coolness of the pool. He stood there with a male arrogance that was both disarming and infuriating, his glance moving down the length of her with a slow deliberation that quickened her pulse and sent the blood drumming in her ears. She was painfully aware of the fact that the bikini he had given her left very little to the imagination, and her cheeks went hot with embarrassment.

  Unable to endure his prolonged scrutiny, she turned and plunged into the cool, refreshing water, but she was surprised to find Brett surfacing beside her almost simultaneously. His hair was plastered to his head and there was a wicked look in his dark eyes.

  'Be careful,' he warned mockingly. 'That bikini wasn't made to take rough treatment.'

  'Go away!' she cried in an anguish of embarrassment, striking out towards the opposite bank. But Brett caught up with her, his arm heavy about her waist as he dragged her against him, and she automatically clutched at those broad shoulders.

  'Teasing time is over,' he said severely. 'Don't swim that way, it's dangerously deep. Keep to this side of the pool.'

  He released
her then and Samantha obeyed him without resentment, swimming only where he had indicated it was safe. She rolled over on to her back and floated, watching the dragonflies hovering like helicopters above the water.

  'Do you often swim here?' she asked when he reached her side once more, treading Water.

  'Almost every day in the summer,' he replied with a gleam of mockery in his eyes. 'But I don't usually swim in this respectable fashion.'

  'What do you mean?'

  His amusement deepened at her innocence. 'I swim in the nude. A costume is something I don't normally carry around with me.'

  Samantha blushed profusely and, avoiding his glance, she swam out to the side of the pool.

  'We'd better dry off in the sun before we change back into our clothes,' he suggested, following her out and towelling himself vigorously.

  Samantha spread out her towel on the grass and sat down, her hands clasped about her knees, her hair wet and stringy, sending rivulets of water down her back and making her shiver in the sun.

  'I have something for you,' Brett said, seating himself beside her with his smooth shoulder almost touching hers.

  She took the square envelope from him and recognised her father's handwriting immediately. 'You must have had this with you since yesterday. Why are you only giving it to me now?'

  'You weren't in a very understanding mood yesterday, so I withheld it a little.'

  Samantha bit back a sharp retort and tore open the envelope, extracting a single sheet of paper with her father's neat handwriting on it.

  'My dear Samantha,' he had written, 'This is not an easy letter to write, because I know how you must be hating me at this moment. It was not an easy decision for me to take. Tricking one's own daughter into a

  situation she doesn't desire is never very pleasant, but you wouldn't have gone willingly.

  `Perhaps you will forgive me when I tell you that I've longed to get away from Port Elizabeth and the aching memories of the happiness your mother and I had shared. I couldn't force you to come with me to Cape Town, and I couldn't leave you behind with someone like Clive Wilmot in the offing. That's why, when Brett suggested an unscheduled visit to his farm where you would be under his care and that of his aunt's, I jumped at the chance.

  `Think of it as a holiday, Samantha, and the opportunity to make sure of your feelings for Clive. If he loves you as he says he does, he'll wait for you. As Brett put it to me: something worthwhile is always worth waiting for.

  `Don't judge me too harshly, my dear, and write to me when you have the time. Your loving father, James Little.'

  She felt the tears prick her eyelids as she returned the letter to the envelope. Brett had moved away from her and stood leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette and staring out across the water with an almost brooding expression on his face.

  Samantha lay down on her back and felt the sting of the sun against her closed eyelids. She could almost forgive her father, and yet ... Brett's shadow fell across her and as she raised her glance she found herself trapped by those peculiar gold-flecked eyes, a clear blue sky, and the gently swaying branches of the willow trees.

  `Why, Brett?' she demanded, catching her trembling lower lip between her teeth. 'Why am I not free to live my life as I wish, and to love whom I please?'

  Brett's expression remained unchanged except for a

  slight tightening of his lips. 'You haven't loved yet, Samantha, but you will one day—the right man.'

  She had an idea that they were not talking about the same thing, but she let it pass and did not mention the subject again as they dressed and rode back to the homestead.

  Brett's chauffeur-driven black Mercedes arrived that afternoon with Samantha's suitcases, and it was only when they stood in a neat row at the foot of her bed that the stark reality of her predicament took its toll on her nerves. She wept, washed her face and wept again. She was being silly, she told herself. She was not normally the weepy kind, but she found that she was incapable of stemming the flow of tears.

  Her first week at Carrington's Post dragged by, but during this time she quelled her impatience and spent her time planning a way of escape. Brett seldom left her alone, taking her with him through acres of grazing paddocks, or down to the vlei for a swim in the pool; he on his white stallion, Lightning, and she on Meisie. Although he kept his word and did not try to kiss her again, Samantha became so aware of him as a forceful and virile man that she wondered which was worse; being kissed by him, or being so alarmingly aware of him.

  Despite the rocky start, Emma Bryce became her friend, but Samantha knew instinctively that she could not share her confidences with this woman, for her loyalty to Brett outweighed their friendship. If Emma Bryce knew of her plans she would inform her nephew instantly.

  Samantha soon discovered that the keys to all the vehicles were kept in Brett's book-lined study. It was a comfortable, business-like room with padded leather

  chairs and a heavy mahogany desk. She had been in there once with Brett when Lucas happened to return the keys of the Land-Rover and she had seen Lucas hang them on a hook in a small unlocked cupboard behind the door. She would have to bide her time, she decided. Brett must not suspect that she had intentions of making a bid for freedom. Freedom—a strange word, but an apt one. She was imprisoned by Brett as a man, and by her own unpredictable emotions. She had to get away—to escape from thoughts and feelings brought on by his dominating presence.

  Her opportunity came one evening during her second week at the farm. Brett announced at dinner that he would be attending a meeting in the district that evening. That left Aunt Emma and Samantha completely alone. Aunt Emma normally went to bed early and that would mean that Samantha would be free to collect the keys of the Mercedes and make her escape before Brett returned. It was all too ridiculously easy, she thought humorously. If Brett intended to keep her a prisoner, then he would have to keep her chained like a slave.

  'Goodnight, Samantha,' Brett bowed mockingly as he was on his way out. 'Forgive me for robbing you of my charming company this evening.'

  'Your company won't be missed, I assure you,' she replied with sarcasm. It was her only weapon against his mockery and she was forced to use it frequently.

  'The day will come, my dear,' Brett continued unperturbed, 'when you'll long for my company ... and plenty more besides.'

  Samantha flushed deeply but did not avert her gaze. 'Don't be too sure of yourself, Brett Carrington. Not all women are prepared to fall at your feet when you happen to beckon. Some may find you irresistible, but

  to me you're rather an arrogant bore.'

  Brett went white about the mouth and Aunt Emma, who had been listening to this verbal battle in silence, drew her breath in sharply. Samantha waited, not knowing what to expect, but Brett recovered swiftly and ordered Aunt Emma to leave them alone for a brief moment.

  'Don't try me too far, Samantha,' he said harshly as the door closed behind his aunt, 'or I might forget my promise to you and show you just how irresistible you do find me.'

  Samantha took an involuntary step backwards, her pulse drumming in her ears. 'I hate you, Brett!'

  'Good,' he snapped, his eyes like two coals of fire in his head. 'If you can love, as vehemently as you hate, then being married to you will be an enthralling revelation.'

  She placed her hands against her burning cheeks as he turned on his heel and left the room. He was an infuriated, self-opinionated, hateful man, and she would never marry him. Never!

  The outer door slammed behind him and moments later Aunt Emma re-entered the living-room.

  'Was that Brett I heard leaving?' she asked, taking in Samantha's flaming cheeks and blue eyes now almost black with anger.

  'Yes.'

  'My dear, you must be careful,' she said with deep concern. 'Brett is very much accustomed to having his own way and he doesn't tolerate people speaking to him the way you do.'

  Samantha's eyes stung with angry tears. 'I did not mean to be disrespectful, but why mus
t he always mock and taunt me the way he does?'

  Emma Bryce shook her head and slipped a comfort-

  ing arm about Samantha's shoulders. 'I don't know what's got into Brett lately. He's not usually like this. He's really a very kind and considerate man, firm with those who work for him, but never cruel.'

  Samantha swallowed at the lump in her throat and quelled her sudden desperate longing for the comforting warmth of Clive's arms, and the firm assurance that he loved her. If her plan worked, she would soon be with him and no one, not even Brett Carrington, would succeed in taking her away from him a second time.

  `I think I'll have an early night,' she told the older woman, and dropped a light kiss on her cheek before going up to her room.

  It was not long before she heard footsteps passing her door. Aunt Emma was retiring for the night and within half an hour her light would be out. She would give her an hour before making her first move, just to make sure that she would be asleep.

  The hour seemed to drag by as Samantha waited, her two suitcases side by side at the door, and her nerves twisted into a tangled knot. The worst part, she discovered later, was tiptoeing down the darkened stairs, collecting the keys from Brett's study, and slipping from the house without waking Aunt Emma Once outside, she kept to the shadows and reached the garages without much difficulty. The black Mercedes was not in its usual place, but the white Mercedes looked inviting in the moonlight. It would perhaps have been better to take Aunt Emma's Mini, but once she was on the main road beyond Bosmansvlei she would need speed to get away as quickly as possible.

  She placed her suitcases in the boot and slipped into the driver's seat. She was practically on her way, she thought, her hands trembling with excitement. Nothing could stop her now. She turned the key in the igni-

  tion and pressed the starter. Nothing happened! She tried again ... and still nothing happened. She flicked the switch for the lights but, when they did not come on, she realised with a sickening jolt that the battery must have been removed. Her suspicions were confirmed when, moments later, she had the bonnet open. She hurried across to the Mini and, to her chagrin, found that it was also without a battery.