A frightened pulse leapt in her throat. 'I ... I don't ...'
'Brett, you're frightening the child,' Aunt Emma intervened swiftly, her glance disapproving, but not without a touch of sympathy for the girl who stood pale and rigid beside her chair.
'My apologies.' He inclined his head mockingly. 'Shall we go to my study and get it over with, Samantha?'
Samantha followed him down the passage and into the austere atmosphere of his study, where she stood
facing him with a feeling of renewed dread in her heart. Was this terrible anger in him as a result of the success or failure of his trip? she wondered with growing alarm. It was difficult to tell with Brett, she had come to realise, for his moods altered with terrifying swiftness.
On his desk stood a photograph of Nadine, her features soft and rounded, her dark eyes alight with gentle amusement, and her equally dark hair tumbling down across her shoulder in silken curls. What had sent this lovely girl careering along a mountain pass to crash to her death? she wondered distractedly, looking up to find Brett appraising her thoughtfully.
'Brett, you couldn't have found ' She choked off the words as flames of anger leapt in his eyes.
'I'm -afraid I have.'
'I don't believe you! ' she cried in despair, fighting to control the tremors that shook through her. 'This is some sort of trick to get me to honour my part of the bargain. Clive would never
'Clive has! ' he interrupted brutally, opening his briefcase and pressing a wad of photographs into her hands. 'Take a look at that, and check the date, time and place noted at the bottom of each photograph.'
Samantha studied the photographs with an odd sensation at the pit of her stomach. It was as though the floor had given way beneath her feet and she was falling into a bottomless pit. There was a photograph taken of Clive at a night-club with a dark-haired girl, and there was something decidedly intimate about the way he held her. There was another of them entering a block of flats on the beach-front that same evening, wearing the same clothes as in the first photograph, and another of the girl leaving the building the following morning.
'The flat is registered in the name of Mr and Mrs
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Clive Wilmot,' she heard Brett say as she dropped the rest of the photographs on to his desk.
'Where—where did you get these?'
'I employed a private detective to follow him during these past weeks.'
She felt physically ill as she faced him, her cheeks deathly pale and a wounded expression in her eyes. 'I think you're despicable! I—'
'I've brought you proof, Samantha. Proof of what Clive Wilmot really is,' Brett interrupted relentlessly. 'Now I shall expect you to keep to your side of the bargain.'
'You're not going to tell me you actually took that ridiculous agreement seriously?'
'Do you want to back out now that you've lost?' he counter-questioned cynically.
'No ... I'll keep to my side of the bargain. I'll marry you, I ...' Her voice faltered as hot tears welled up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks before she could prevent them. 'Nothing ... matters now.'
A spotless white handkerchief was pressed into her hands. 'Clive Wilmot isn't worthy of your tears.'
'You d-don't understand,' she moaned into the white linen, trying unsuccessfully to stem the flow of tears. 'I loved ... loved him.'
He muttered something unintelligible and quite suddenly she found herself in his arms with her head pressed against his shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, so unexpected from him, but he held her quite firmly and dispassionately until her silent weeping ceased.
'I'm sorry,' she managed eventually in a muffled voice, extricating herself from his arms and wiping her face. 'I must look a mess.'
'I think the sooner we're married, the better,' he re-
marked, and she did not dare look at him. 'I'll contact your father this afternoon and ask formally for your hand in marriage, as well as for the required written permission as you're still under age.'
Samantha felt as though every vestige of feeling had deserted her. 'You're serious, then ... about marrying me?'
'I've never been more serious about anything in my life,' he said with quiet determination as she raised her glance to his.
'Despite the fact that I don't -love you?'
'Samantha, I believe that marriages founded on the solid basis of truth and respect are far more successful than most others,' he replied mockingly, capturing her trembling hands in his. 'Given time, my dear, we could be as happy as anyone else.'
Alone in her room, with the tray of lunch Brett had had sent .up to her still untouched on the small table where the maid had placed it, reaction began to filter through the blanket of numbness like a douche of icy water, setting her nerves tingling and driving her close to panic. She saw again those damning photographs and a searing pain shot through her. Clive had not waited, but within a matter of a few short weeks he had found someone else and had married her. What had happened then to all his arguments that his salary was not sufficient to keep a wife? she wondered miserably, failing to understand his reasoning.
It was obvious to her now that no man could be trusted, she thought with unaccustomed bitterness. She had trusted Clive and, because of that foolish trust, she had allowed herself to be trapped into an agreement with Brett—an agreement she was now forced to honour.
What did it really matter whom she married? Her hopes and girlish dreams had been shattered, and she would never love again. Never l It was agony to love someone, because it brought only immeasurable pain and disillusionment.
Within less than a month, according to what Brett had told his aunt when he called her into his study, they would be married. The thought unnerved her. Marriage to Brett Carrington was something she would never have contemplated under normal circumstances. He was far too arrogant and domineering and, as a husband, would be demanding and exacting, something she would be incapable of coping with. She could never love Brett, but he had not offered her love ... simply marriage. But with marriage there came certain obligations which made her shudder merely to think of it. Would Brett demand that she fulfil her wifely duties, something which he had every right to expect?
She covered her face with her hands as the blood rushed into her cheeks and then receded to leave her deathly pale. There was still time to escape, she thought frantically, before sanity returned to crush the idea before it had even materialised. Whatever else she might be, she was not a coward. The future had to be faced, and she would do so with as much dignity as possible. She would save face by marrying Brett, and in doing so she would be showing Clive that she had emerged from their relationship unscathed. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that, because he had failed her, her life lay in ruins about her.
Marriage to Brett would have its compensations. He was extremely wealthy, and as his wife she would have access to that wealth. A strangled moan escaped her as, sickened by her own thoughts, she fell across the bed and buried her face in the pillow. She was tired. Tired
of fighting for Clive's non-existent virtues; tired of fighting against Brett's determination to marry her, and most of all, tired of trying to understand the frightening pattern her life had become.
The following three weeks consisted of whirlwind trips to Port Elizabeth to select material for her wedding gown and several fittings before Aunt Emma was satisfied with the results. Brett had made arrangements for them to spend their honeymoon on the island of Mauritius and insisted on depositing a large amount in her bank account with which to buy a suitable trousseau. Simple cottons and linens were not good enough for the wife of Brett Carrington, it had to be expensive silks and cloud-like chiffons, as well as lacy underwear she would never have dared to buy because of the phenomenal price.
There was no time to brood about her decision, for Aunt Emma involved her in the wild rush of preparing for the expected guests. At night Samantha slept dreamlessly from sheer exhaustion, a fact which saved her many
hours of futile anxiety.
She saw very little of Brett during this time, and not even the glittering diamond ring he had placed on her
finger succeeded in disturbing or disrupting her unnatural composure. Not once did he subject her to unwanted intimacies, but at all times remained completely impersonal, almost aloof. Perhaps this was why she had become enmeshed in a web of total unreality, behaving with an unnatural calm acceptance that at times exasperated Aunt Emma.
An ecstatic letter arrived from Gillian in which she apologised for the part she had played in Brett's plans, but stating that she was happy things had turned out for the better seeing that Samantha was marrying Brett.
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It was a letter that left Samantha strangely unmoved at the time, although it surprised her to discover how swiftly news travelled.
Brett gave her more freedom during those few weeks, placing the Mercedes at her disposal for trips into Bosmansvlei, the quaint little town that served the farming community. Everyone appeared to know her, or know of her. It was embarrassing at times, although it made her feel less like a stranger when she did the odd bit of shopping that did not required a trip to Port Elizabeth. She should have known, too, that in a small town like Bosmansvlei everyone knew everything about everyone else in the town as well as the surrounding district.
The people were friendly, jovial and welcoming. To them she was the future wife of Brett Carrington; someone of importance. If only they knew how little difference it made to her, and of the dead ashes in the bruised heart she was offering, by force, to the most respected man in their community. Would they still think so highly of her? she wondered cynically.
Meisie, the grey mare, began to look forward to her almost daily outings, and the lump of sugar Samantha invariably carried in the pocket of her jodhpurs. Brett seldom accompanied her on these rides across the veld now that she was capable of managing Meisie with confidence.
She was out early one morning on the mare, exploring the farm, when she discovered a cottage almost hidden among the trees not far from the main homestead. Curiosity made her venture closer and to her delight she saw what she had always secretly wished for herself. A cottage with an ivy creeper trailing along the walls, a carefully tended garden, not as elaborate as the one at the homestead, but with a pleasant, rest-
ful atmosphere that gave one the impression that loving hands had planted each seedling as well as caring for the roses that flowered so abundantly.
'Hello there ! A young woman appeared around the side of the cottage, her auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, an apron tied about her waist, and a smile on her slightly rounded face. 'You must be Mr Carrington's fiancee.'
'Yes.' Samantha's hands tightened spasmodically on the reins as the woman approached the fence surrounding the cottage.
'I'm Louise Oosthuizen,' she introduced herself, her English heavily accented. 'My husband, Ted, is Mr Carrington's farm manager.'
Samantha stared at her in surprise. 'I had no idea that Brett had a farm manager.'
'Good heavens, yes,' Mrs Oostuizen laughed merrily. 'This farm is much too big for a man like Mr Carrington who can't spend all his time here. Ted has been here three years now, ever since Mr Carrington's previous manager retired.' She shaded her eyes from the sun with her hand as she glanced up at Samantha. 'I've just made a pot of tea, but it's rather lonely drinking it by myself. Would you care to join me?'
Her warmth drove some of the chill from Samantha's heart as she accepted Louise Oosthuizen's invitation and dismounted. 'By the way, my name is Samantha.'
'Samantha,' she murmured, her grey eyes appraising her unexpected visitor. 'A lovely name for someone as lovely as you.'
Samantha blushed at the compliment as she followed her into the cottage and sniffed at the pleasant odour of home-made bread and a mutton roast in the oven.
'You must forgive me if the house is in a bit of a mess,' Louise Oosthuizen continued pleasantly. 'We've
only just returned from holiday and I haven't had the opportunity to see to everything yet.'
Samantha realised now why Brett had had to leave his other activities to spend a month on the farm. It was so that Ted Oosthuizen could take his annual leave with his wife and the little baby boy that lay kicking and gurgling in his pram in the kitchen. The chubby little fingers curled tightly about Samantha's finger as she leaned over the pram and, as the uncertainty passed, she was awarded a toothless smile that melted the ice about her heart completely.
'He's adorable ' she exclaimed, picking up the cuddly bundle and hugging him against her breast.
'And thoroughly spoiled because of it,' Louise laughed, setting out cups on the scrubbed wooden table and pouring the tea.
Sitting down to have tea with Louise's baby on her lap was an experience that uncoiled the tension within Samantha, and she felt relaxed for the first time since that fateful day she had agreed to marry Brett.
'It's time for his morning nap,' Louise said eventually, marching off to the room with the child. 'Don't go away yet, Samantha.'
Louise returned moments later. Now, with him out of the way we can relax more. Tell me about yourself, Samantha?'
'There's ... really nothing much to tell,' Samantha said hesitantly, withdrawing mentally from this friendly woman.
'Ted and I were beginning to think that Mr Carrington would never marry,' she continued amiably. 'Ted said he was much too particular about what he wanted in a wife, but whatever it is, you must have that something special he was looking for.'
A wary smile curved Samantha's lips and she hastily
changed the subject. 'I really had a cheek to call on you so unexpectedly, but I found your cottage quite by chance.'
`Ag, nee, I don't mind,' Louise set her mind at rest quickly. 'I get very lonely sometimes with no one to talk to except Ted, when he's home. Mr Carrington's Aunt Emma has been here a couple of times, and I've been up to the big house once or twice, but I don't want to make a nuisance of myself.'
Samantha understood perfectly how she felt and her tender heart softened instantly. 'Louise, will I still be welcome in your home after ... after Mr Carrington and I are married?'
'Yes, of course '
'Will you come and see me as well? I think I'm going to find it just as lonely sometimes with no one near my own age to talk to.'
'It's a pity Nadine isn't still alive,' Louise shook her head sadly. 'She was always so full of fun.'
'Did you know her?' Samantha questioned tentatively.
'No, but the Coloured farm labourers who've been here for many years often talk about her.' Louise sighed heavily. 'She had that terrible accident just a few months before we came to Carrington's Post, and Mr Carrington has never been the same since then. They say he used to laugh more when his sister was alive, and the big house was always filled with music. Nadine played the piano beautifully, I believe, but Mr Caning-ton sold the big piano after her death, and now the big house is filled with silence all year round with not much happy laughter in those big rooms.'
Samantha digested this in silence; trying to visualise that other Brett who laughed without harsh mockery, and probably spoke to the sister he loved with a gentle-
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ness devoid of cynicism and barbed insinuations. She tried to see him in this role, and failed dismally.
'I believe there was some speculation at the time as to whether she committed suicide or not,' Samantha delved deeper into this delicate subject in an effort to get a better understanding of the man she was to marry.
`Ag, man,' Louise began, pouring them each a second cup of tea, 'I've heard that story too. Everyone seems to think there was a man involved somewhere. I can't say that this is so, but I wouldn't be surprised. Ja nee !
Samantha had plenty to think about when she rode back to the homestead that morning. Was it possible that that lovely girl, whose photograph she had seen on Brett's desk, could have committed suicide because the man she loved had let her d
own? What reason had Brett to blame himself for her death if this was so, or had Aunt Emma interpreted Brett's behaviour incorrectly? People could be wrong, of course. Nadine's death might have been an accident, and nothing more. It was strange, however, that Brett and his aunt hardly ever spoke of Nadine. It was almost as though she had never existed, except for the framed photograph on Brett's desk.
Nadine remained an unravelled mystery; a mystery enhanced by Louise's disclosure that there could possibly have been a man involved in the reason for her accident.
Samantha sighed heavily as she left Meisie with the stable boy and strolled listlessly back to the house. She had met Louise Oosthuizen quite by chance that morning, but it was the only good thing that had happened to her for weeks. She liked Louise and, if Brett had no objection, she would not mind having her as a friend to call on from time to time when the need for company arose.
The guests began to arrive two days before the wedding was to take place in Bosmansvlei's old stone chapel, and among those first arrivals was Samantha's father. As much as she blamed him for her unhappiness, be became her oasis in a sea of strangers consisting of relatives and business associates to whom she was forced to make a pretence of sublime happiness. But only Samantha knew of the mockery in Brett's glances which others interpreted as complete devotion. Beyond caring, she found it easier to ignore that which would have caused her pangs of misery and anger.
'I'm so glad you were able to shake off your infatuation for Clive,' her father said when they had a moment alone in the seclusion of the garden and, without noticing the veil of sadness in her eyes, he continued: 'Brett will make you an excellent husband. You always did need a firm hand to guide you.'
Bitterness engulfed her, but she forced herself to smile and hastily changed the subject. 'Are you happy in Cape Town, Daddy?'
'Very happy,' he assured her, pulling her arm through his as they strolled back to the house where tea was being served to everyone on the stoep. 'I miss you, of course, but now that I know you'll be settling down happily in your marriage I shall be more contented.'
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