by Anne Hampson
She stooped to turn on the taps, standing still and watching the bath fill up. She found scented bath salts, a very expensive—and very feminine—brand of talcum powder on a shelf above the wash-hand basin. She supposed these were there for use, and yet she hesitated, feeling she might be taking a liberty. However, she did use the bath salts, luxuriously enjoying their subtle perfume as she lay in languid comfort in the big bath. That feeling of well-being crept over her again, as it had crept over her downstairs, when she had been in the cloakroom. This house was restful; it had the same sort of tranquil atmosphere which Sara had encountered in the home of her employer, the charming titled lady who had conquered adversity by the determination to retain her cheerful personality. It had been a real pleasure to work for her, and as she lay here, in i he bath, Sara could not help sighing for what she had given up, could not control the nostalgia which filled her as the vision of her past life rose up before her.
Her job had been so easy, with many words of praise, and little rewards which, though of scant material value, meant such a lot to Sara. She still had several small bottles of perfume, some dainty lace handkerchiefs, a few pretty pieces of costume jewellery. These all had their own individual meanings; they had been given to Sara as tokens of appreciation when, for some reason or another, she had had to put herself out a little for her employer.
'You shouldn't feel you have to reward me,' Sara had at first protested, but she had not known her employer very well at that time. Later, she understood her personality so well that she recognised the genuine pleasure which the woman was deriving from the giving of these little presents.
Another sigh escaped her, but she was at the same lime telling herself that she could not have acted in any other way than she had. Irma needed her and that was why she was here. It was both love and duty which had brought her, and despite the emotional disturbances caused by her own love for Ray, Sara knew she would do the same again; she would answer her sister's call without the slightest hesitation.
But what of the future? The problems loomed larger than ever now owing to the way Irma's mind was beginning to work. Yet Sara felt there was some way out of the 'difficulty. She had never looked on the black side, merely because she had realised the futility of it. She did have a happy knack of looking on the bright side of everything, just as Irma had said, and she was even now visualising a cure—if not a complete cure, then one which would enable her sister to get about, to leave that bed and that room, and the scene from the window which must already be so familiar as to be totally without interest. Meanwhile, there was the more immediate possibility of persuading Irma to try out a wheelchair. Sara's employer had had one before she became so crippled that she had to keep to her bed. She had told Sara how wonderful the chair had been, how it had helped her to get about the house and do certain things for herself. Sara's own visions extended to an invalid carriage which Irma could drive, taking herself to town, perhaps.
'If some of this can materialise, then Irma won't be thinking of such things as oblivion,' Sara decided, speaking her thoughts aloud. She was still fully relaxed, enjoying the warmth of the scented water, the peace, the feeling of aloneness which she had not experienced since coming to Africa. She liked being alone sometimes; her employer had instilled into her the necessity of this, saying, quite definitely,
'Everyone who is intelligent needs to be alone on occasions. We have thinking power, and private thoughts are to be indulged in when we're on our own. All my life I have insisted on having my own company for at least an hour each day.'
Yes, it certainly was nice to be alone. Sara prolonged her stay in the bath, and even when she did come out she lingered over getting dressed. She thought of hav- ing dinner with Carl and, being all woman—and despite her dislike of her host—she wished she had something more appropriate than the denims and the shirt. The ends of her hair had become wet again, but the rest was dry, and shining. She combed it, then used the blusher on her cheeks and the lip-rouge on her mouth.
The mirror sent back her reflection; she found her thoughts going to Irma, and the real beauty that was hers. Ray had been bowled over the moment he had set eyes on her, and no wonder. Irma had had many boy-friends, being more fond of the social life than Sara. Her job, too, brought her into contact with young men, as she had worked in the office of a large insurance company. Sara on the other hand had worked first In a hospital, and then had been persuaded to take the post of private nurse, and although a little doubtful at first as to whether she wanted to be on call all the time, she was soon admitting that she had no regrets about taking the job, and she never would have.
But this demanding kind of job allowed little time lor socialising, and the only occasions when Sara really went out to dances and parties was during her holiday breaks, which were fairly often, her employer insisting on her having four breaks a year of one week each. During these times another nurse took over Sara's duties, and so Sara had no qualms about leaving her employer and going to stay with Irma in the smart little house she had been left by their uncle who, though he liked Sara and left her a small legacy, had always favoured Irma.
It was on these visits that Sara began to realise just how beautiful her sister was. The young men swarmed around her at every party or dance; she could have had HI many dates as she could fix into her leisure time. But she had never been serious with any man until she met Ray; it was love at first sight for both of them, and despite her own breaking heart Sara had to admit that they were ideally suited to one another.
With a last glance in the mirror she turned away, her thoughts still with Irma and Ray, the picture uppermost in her mental vision that of the wedding, when the glowing bride in white had walked down the aisle on the arm of her handsome husband. Everyone had gasped at the sight; there had been exclamations and soulful sighs. No one had had any eyes for the bride's sister; no perceptive glance had caught the shadows of unhappiness on her face, or the tremulous movement of her expressive mouth. Outside the church Sara had smiled for the photographer; her eyes had glowed in the sunshine. No one would have guessed that beneath her outward show of gaiety Sara's heart was almost breaking.
Carl was not in the sitting-room when Sara entered, a circumstance for which she was glad. Trying to keep up a conversation with a man she so disliked was an intolerable strain, and she hoped he would keep away until dinner-time. Immediately the meal was over she could bid him good night and go to bed.
She walked over to the window, greatly relieved to see that the rain had stopped altogether. But the dusk had long since given way to night and all was dark beyond the half-circle of light cast by powerful electric lamps fixed to the roof of the house. From where she stood Sara could see, to her right, the tall white gables of the dining-room, which was, she thought, an addition to the original homestead in that it lay at right angles to the main building and was of a slightly different type of architecture. The windows were long, with white shutters, and they faced a marble-floored verandah trellised with grapevines. Lights of subtle colours from golden-yellow through saffron to orange and amber illuminated the verandah, though the source of these lights was hidden, being cleverly masked within the foliage of the vines. Decorative pots held a variety of flowers—amaryllis and arum lilies, tuberoses, verbenas, coreopsis and several others which Sara could not make out, as they were at the far end of the verandah.
A light step behind her made Sara turn; Carl had entered the room and was now standing by the fireplace, his keen eyes taking in the fact that she had done her best to look respectable for the evening meal. He himself had changed into nothing more formal than a pair of brown linen slacks, a country-style shirt in handkerchief check and a tie with a heraldic design. It was obvious that he had considered her feelings and, quite unconsciously, she shot him a grateful glance. He smiled faintly and said,
'Dinner will be ready in about half an hour or so. Perhaps you would like a drink of something?'
'Yes, please.' Sara suddenly felt shy, but cont
rived a smile for all that. 'A dry sherry, I think.'
As he turned to go over to the cocktail cabinet she watched him, impressed by his air of confidence, the mastery displayed in his tall lean frame and the distinguished manner in which he carried it. She had already admitted to the superlative qualities of his looks and his physique, and she found herself making the same admission now. But this time, for some reason she could not explain, there was not the same reluctance in her admission.
He brought her the drink, contained in a delightful hand-engraved crystal glass. She smiled her thanks, saw to her surprise that his response came spontaneously. The interlude before dinner might not be so unpleasant after all, she thought.
CHAPTER FOUR
The dinner was served at eight o'clock, in an atmosphere of quiet elegance cleverly combined with sophistication. Apart from the two standard lamps giving out a muted rose-amber glow, the only illumination was from the candles set high in an ornate silver candelabrum in the centre of the table. Quiet music of the light classical kind was coming from a tape recorder in the hi-fi cabinet; suitably fine wines were on the sideboard, ready to be opened, while a bottle of champagne had been put into the ice bucket. Sara, conducted to her chair by Carl, who drew it out for her, found herself again in a state of unreality, her mind confused as it jostled with conflicting thoughts stimulated by the various aspects of Carl's character which she had seen today. From being a man unapproachable, austere, and almost rude in his attitude towards her, he had become thoughtful for her comfort, understanding of her embarrassment, gallant in his role as her host.
The first course, brought in by Anna on a silver tray, was shrimps mariette served piping hot. This was followed by loin of pork alsacienne; the sweet was apricot souffle, accompanied by iced champagne. Then came coffee and liqueurs served in the sitting-room, where the soft music could still be heard, extra speakers having been fitted in the four corners of the room. Sara, amazed at the cordiality existing between Carl and herself, could have wished the evening to go on for at least twice as long as it did. With a faint smile she recalled her previous intention of making her excuses immediately dinner was over and going to bed. Now, as she sat in the comfortable armchair drinking steaming coffee and sipping a liqueur, nothing was farther from her thoughts than putting an abrupt end to this most pleasant interlude. All her problems and heartaches had dissolved; she was in another world… a world of peace where nothing or no one could ever hurt her again.
Her thoughts brought a smile to her lips and Carl, happening to glance at her from over the rim of his brandy glass, asked her softly what she was feeling so happy about.
'It's the peace,' she answered at once, without really thinking that perhaps such a reply would puzzle him.
He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.
'That's not very clear,' he said.
'There are no problems here,' she returned with a little sigh in her voice.
The lazy amber eyes flickered with an odd expression.
'Problems,' he said, 'are very often of one's own making.' Although he spoke mildly, enough, there was an undertone of contempt in his voice that could not possibly escape Sara's ears. She knew what he meant, and was angry with herself for her unthinking remark. To mention problems was to give him an opening to I)ring up the subject of Irma again.
'I wouldn't argue with you wholly, Mr van der Linden,' she said, offering him a smile in the hope that he would revert to his former pleasant manner with her. 'But I must say that many problems we encounter in life are definitely not of our own making.'
The amber eyes glinted, then scanned her face in a way that could only be described as censorious.
'It's my belief,' he said slowly and emphatically, 'that in your particular case the problems you have are of your own making.' So subtle the implication; this was a tactful approach but a direct one nevertheless. Disconcerted, Sara averted her head, sipping her liqueur. How long before he took the liberty of informing her that he knew she was in love with her sister's husband? Well, she intended to leave the ball in his court, but if ever he did decide to tell her what he knew, then she would most certainly take advantage of the opening and tell him the truth. He would learn that she had not come out to Njangola Farm in order to be near to Ray, but in answer to the appeal made by Irma; he would surely grasp, then, that all Sara's solicitude was centred on her unfortunate sister, that Irma's welfare was her chief concern and always would be. Carl would have to admit that Sara was neither so designing nor so bitchy as he had branded her.
She took another sip of her liqueur, her mind dwelling on what she had been thinking, going over it… and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the knowledge was borne upon her that she wanted Carl to change his opinion of her! Gone was her indifference regarding his conception of her character. What he thought of her really mattered!
Staggered by this admission, she looked covertly at him, seeing him differently from how she had seen him before, noting his chiselled good looks with a new kind of interest. What was wrong with her? she asked herself with slight impatience. Why should she have changed in her attitude towards him? Hitherto, he had merely been the neighbour who was proving useful to her brother-in-law, helping him over difficulties connected with the farm. As such, it was incumbent on Sara to extend to him a measure of politeness, which she dutifully did extend, but with an even greater measure of reluctance.
But now…
She sipped her liqueur again, aware that she was lightheaded. A swift calculation—which took her from the aperitif to the full-bodied Burgundy and on to the iced champagne and, lastly, to the Grand Marnier which she was now drinking—gave her rather a shock and she found herself asking the question, 'Am I tipsy?' Disgusted, she laid down the glass and picked up her coffee. Yes, she was tipsy, without a doubt, and that was the reason why she was feeling less hostile towards the man sitting there, looking so languidly comfortable, with his back against the soft velvet cushions, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and his half- narrowed eyes studying the tracery of light that marbled the surface of his cognac. She watched him tilt the glass; she looked at his eyes again and wondered what he was thinking. An enigmatic man, cool and confident and totally self-sufficient, he seemed to live for his work, although he did allow himself the recreation of playing polo and of attending the various functions which were held at the Glenview Club. Ray had said that he had a tennis court and a swimming- pool in his grounds here, but whether or not he used them Sara did not know.
Sensing her interest, he glanced her way. She coloured daintily and a smile fluttered. How charming lie seemed! His severe features had softened, his eyes were smiling at her. She no longer found his mouth thin and ruthless, or his demeanour arrogant. In fact… she rather liked the man! Yes, he was quite nice, pleasant——— Her thoughts cut as she realised just how greatly affected she was by the alcohol she had consumed. Carl van der Linden was no different now from what he was at any other time! It was just that her vision was blurred!
Deciding that she could do worse than make a speedy retreat to her bedroom, she drained her coffee cup, placed it on the saucer, and a moment later she was murmuring a few quiet words which she fervently hoped did not betray the state she was in. Carl looked a little surprised, glancing at the clock as he said, 'Going to bed, at this time?'
She nodded as she rose from her chair.
'I'm very tired,' she returned, and took a couple of steps towards the door. Good lord! Her legs had never felt so weak!
'Goodnight, then———— ' Carl's voice checked; and saw his fine lips twitch, his eyes glimmer with amusement. Automatically she put cool hands to her cheeks. Why on earth hadn't she remembered that she was unused to taking more than one small sherry and one glass of table wine? How many times had Carl refilled her glass? She had no recollection of his refilling it at all, but she did remember drinking the wine—and thoroughly enjoying it! 'You—er—know the way to your room?' No mistaking the dry amusement now. The insufferable man
was laughing at her! She tilted her chin, and at the same time sent him a sparkling glance.
'I should hope so! I've been to it twice already!'
'Of course. However, just call out if you happen to get lost.' He watched the tightening of her mouth and gave a brief laugh as, leaning forward, he placed his brandy glass on the table in front of him. 'Do you know, Miss Morgan, anger makes you appear quite pretty.'
'You——— !' She stopped, terrified that her legs would give way. 'Goodnight!' she said, and managed somehow to reach the door without losing one scrap of her dignity. Once through it she hastened away, thankful to be reaching her room without mishap. 'It was his fault,' she seethed as she stepped out of her denims and laid them over a chair. 'He did it on purpose!'
Which of course was not true, and she was soon admitting it. For how was he to know she couldn't take more than one glass of wine? It was the champagne, she decided, sitting on the edge of the bed and unbuttoning her shirt. It was very good, though, that sparkling wine they had drunk with the dessert. Did Carl always have it, even when he was alone? He had certainly drawn that cork with the expertise of one to whom the task was a regular occurrence.
Sara made her way to the bathroom, where she drank two glasses of cold water. That seemed better, but she was now conscious of a headache. Convinced that she would have difficulty in getting to sleep, she got dressed again, deciding that some fresh air would not come amiss.
The window of her room opened on to a verandah from where steps led to the patio fronting the room which she knew to be Carl's study. Would he be there? ft was unlikely, she thought, seeing that she had left him comfortably relaxing in the sitting-room, listening to the music and enjoying his brandy.
The air was deliriously fresh and cool after the rain and the sky, which had so recently been cloud-laden, was filled with stars, and the crescent moon shone in their midst. Relieved to find that the effects of the wine were wearing off, Sara decided to take a short stroll in the grounds, but she had not gone very far when she became conscious of a sound behind her. She wheeled about, and came face to face with Carl.
