by Anne Hampson
Yes, mused Sara as she drove slowly into Paulsville, Ray would be able to cope—with the help of Sadie and the houseboy, of course.
After parking the runabout she went off to the chemists, then to the stationers for a few items Ray wanted, and for notepaper and envelopes for Irma. She had got these and was looking at the paperback books with the intention of buying one or two for her sister, when she was suddenly hailed by Bernard, who had just entered the shop.
'Hello, there! Are you buying up the place?'
'Bernard! It's nice to see you!' Sara turned with a ready smile on her lips.
'And it's nice to see you! I was disappointed not to find you at the Club dance on Saturday.'
'My sister wasn't very well, so I stayed with her.'
'Ray came, though.' Bernard's voice was as blank as his expression. Either he was being tactful, by not allowing his thoughts to be betrayed, or he was puzzled by the fact that it was not Ray who was looking after his wife.
'Ray's been working very hard,' she told him. 'He really did need the break.'
Bernard nodded slowly.
'It must be very trying, having an invalid in the house all the time. I shall never forget how shocked we all were when that accident happened. The lovely wife of our latest recruit to farming around here, crippled for life! It devastated us all for a week or more.'
Sara said nothing. Irma was more than a cripple; she was totally without the ability to move on her own two legs. If she would agree to try one of the wheelchairs… But as yet she flatly refused to be seen propelling herself about. If she had to be helpless, she said, she would be helpless in private.
Bernard had done all his shopping, which was in reality for his sister, and he asked Sara if she would care to join him for a cup of tea. She agreed, and after Bernard had carried her purchases back to her own vehicle, they entered the Club's grounds and sat at a table under the palms. They were drinking their tea when Carl came along, looking cool and arresting in a white open-necked shirt and a pair of white denim lacks. He stopped by their table to speak to Bernard, saying he would need him to work late on the following Saturday. Bernard was delighted and Sara felt that it would not be too long at all before he had saved enough money to buy his own small farm.
'Are you joining us for tea?' invited Bernard. 'We've only just started.' Carl agreed, and beckoned to a passing waitress.
'How is your sister?' he inquired after giving his order. 'I haven't been able to get over to Ray's place for the past day or two, but I shall come over tomorrow, and I'll sit with Irma for a while.'
Still concerned about Irma, thought Sara, her mind acutely alive to what Irma had said recently, in between the sobs in one of her bouts of weeping.
'I want to die! And I shall! The opportunity'll come —when you and Ray aren't so alert!' Later, after Sara had managed to soothe her with patience and gentleness and compassionate murmurings, Irma had looked at her full in the eyes and said, 'It would be better for everyone if I faded out of this life… and out of the way of other people's happiness.' What she meant was that, if she died, then Sara and Ray would be able to get together. Sara had gone away and wept; a terrible weight settled on her mind which had remained with her for the rest of the day.
A movement brought Sara's mind back to the present; the waitress was serving Carl with his pot of tea. He was staring at Sara, reminding her of his question.
'Irma's better today,' she said. 'Yesterday she was unhappy… it was a difficult time for us…' Her voice trailed off, for she had not meant to say anything like that. Carl was bound to read a complaint in her words. But the contempt was not in evidence—in fact, come to think of it, she had not been subjected to it on any of Carl's recent visits.
He was pouring his tea, his expression thoughtful. Bernard spoke, bringing her attention from Carl.
'I've never thought, Sara—but perhaps I could come along some time and spend an hour with Irma?'
Sara's eyes brightened, a circumstance which did not escape Carl's notice.
'Would you, Bernard? Oh, I'd be most grateful if you came only for an hour once a week!'
He bit his lip, saying he ought to have thought of it a long time ago.
'I'll come tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right with you——— No, if Carl's coming I'll choose another day.
How about Thursday?'
'That'll be fine. She'll be delighted when I tell her.'
'Hardly delighted,' from Carl in that finely-timbred voice of his. 'You must expect, Bernard, to find Irma depressed—very depressed. Obviously she'll look forward to your coming, but it's better if you realise that visitors relieve the monotony, nothing more.'
'Is that so?' Bernard looked pained. 'I hadn't realised she was so very low—and yet it's natural, I suppose,' he added. 'You yourself appear to know a lot' about her,' he said in conclusion, looking at Carl.
'As I've told Miss Morgan, I've seen a case like Irma's before——— ' He stopped then and shrugged his broad shoulders. 'But we won't go into that. Just try to remember, Bernard, that if Irma seems morose you must hear with her. Please don't stop visiting her because of it. Once you start your visits you must keep them up. Irma's condition will be harmed if you begin visiting her and then stop; she'll straightaway assume she's bored you, that you've had enough of her.'
'I see…' from Bernard thoughtfully. 'I shall remember, Carl.' He glanced at Sara. 'I can spare an hour or so each week,' he assured her. 'And I'll get my sister to come—on another day, of course.'
'That's kind of you, Bernard. I do thank you.' Sara threw him a grateful smile, aware that Carl was watching her intently, an odd expression on his face.
A short while later Bernard, glancing at his watch, said apologetically that he would have to be getting back to see to the milking of the cows.
'You don't mind?' His glance embraced them both as he rose from his chair.
'No, certainly not,' affably from Carl. 'Give my regards to Richard and Emma.'
'I will. Perhaps Richard'll see you on Saturday? He's going to watch the polo match.'
'I shall be playing—all being well.'
'Okay, I'll tell him. So long for now!' Sara watched him disappear along the palm-fringed drive, feeling a trifle awkward at being alone with Carl. He was all suave composure—maddeningly self-possessed. And yet her resentment of his cool nonchalance was far less now than it had been during those weeks prior to her staying at his house. She had disliked him intensely without there being anything really concrete in her dislike. She had felt there would have been more satisfaction if only she could have put her finger on the cause of her dislike. Other than his arrogance, and the indifferent manner he had adopted with her, there was nothing much to which she could take exception. Afterwards, though, she had noticed his contempt, and naturally her dislike of him had increased.
He spoke to her, casually making conversation, and for a few minutes there was a polite interchange going on between them. Sara, watching him teeter back in his chair after he had finished his tea, wondered if he were becoming bored with her company. She picked up her shoulder-bag from the vacant chair beside her and prepared to leave. Then she remembered the bell she wanted to have fixed up for Irma and decided to ask Carl if he knew the address of the man who could take on the job. The amber eyes gleamed with interest, then flickered over Sara's face, down to the graceful curve of her neck and then to the firm youthful curves outlined beneath the crisp white blouse she was wearing.
'Yes, I know his address,' Carl answered, but added immediately, 'However, there's no need for Ray to go to any expense. I have a boy who loves to mess about with such things. He'll fix up something, using a battery.'
Sara thanked him with her eyes before saying,
'It's good of you, Mr van der Linden, to do all this for us. The bell does happen to be important, since there are occasions when I don't hear Irma when she calls.'
'And then she becomes fractious, I suppose.'
'You seem to know a gr
eat deal about her,' she said, unconsciously voicing words already spoken by Bernard.
'She interests me. In fact, the three of you up at Njangola interest me,' he added cryptically. Sara looked .it him, saw the narrowed gaze fixed upon her, critical, challenging. She glanced away, focusing her eyes on the lovely scene where brilliant tropical flowers nodded in the breeze. The gardens of the Club were superbly kept, with shady walks and mossy little tracts which, when one was strolling in the dark, would be come upon quite unexpectedly. Perfumes from hidden places would assail the nostrils; fireflies would glisten and cicadas would send their music into the air. Now, basking in the sunshine, the flowers gave forth exotic beauty in addition to their colour and perfume. A clump of jacaranda trees with their mist-like blossoms hung like a blue veil over the roof of the summer-house, and beneath them masses of golden buttercups flaunted the light they had stolen from the great incandescent ball above. Closer to—just a yard or two from where she was sitting—a couple of miniature tree-frogs seemed to be playing hide-and-seek among the shiny leaves of a bush honeysuckle, and on a warm stone below, a lizard basked, still as a statue.
'Tell me,' murmured Carl at length, 'what are you thinking about, Miss Morgan?'
'My thoughts are private, Mr van der Linden.' This was out before she could stop it and she frowned to herself. She had not intended to sound so unfriendly, especially after he had just offered to see to the fixing of the bell for her sister.
'Are you usually so reticent, or is it only with me?' Carl spoke casually, as if her last remark had been deliberately treated more kindly than Sara deserved. But his question took her aback for all that. She looked questioningly at him and said,
'I don't quite know what you mean, Mr van der Linden?'
'The dumb blonde act, eh?' His mouth curved sardonically. 'Why do women, when asked a question they don't want to answer, adopt that air of bewilderment and say they don't understand, or they don't know what one is getting at?'
Sara did not know whether to laugh or to flash him a darkling glance. She did neither, maintaining an unmoving countenance as she said quietly,
'You're accusing me of prevarication, obviously?'
'Obviously.' He decided to pour himself another cup of tea and so fell silent for a space. Then: 'Has Ray mentioned anything about a projected visit to my mother?' he asked, changing the subject with an abruptness that startled her.
'Mr van der Linden,' she said emphasising every word, 'just why should you want me to pay a visit to your mother, whom I've never even met?'
'So Ray did speak to you about it. Then he explained, surely?'
'He said something about your mother not being too well and that she had been expecting you to pay her a visit. I fail to see how I can be any sort of a substitute,' she ended, watching his sun-bitten face closely and trying to read something from it.
'Ray said you were needing a rest and a change—and I myself agree———— ' He lifted a hand imperiously as she would have interrupted. 'Resent my interference if you like, but if you're sensible you'll give this trip some thought. You'd not be happy in an hotel on your own, and as this business of my own visit has fallen through I made the offer to Ray because he seemed so anxious about you.' Here the voice became devoid of expression; Sara glanced away, deeply conscious of the fact that he was probably thinking about her being in love with Ray. 'It seemed a most convenient way of making several people happy,' he resumed presently.
Sara, still puzzled, put forward the very reasonable question,
'Supposing your mother doesn't like me? To be quite frank, if it were me, I'd not be at all easy about having a strange young woman thrust upon me.'
'No?' Carl was amused now. 'You don't know my mother! She loves to be with young people; she's happy meeting new people of any age. She's a psychologist, so she'll analyse you. It's a hobby of hers which I've long since given up trying to bully her into dropping. You'll like my mother,' he added, and the glimmer of a smile broke, easing the hardness of his features. 'She isn't anything like her son, if that's what's troubling you.'
'You just had to say that, didn't you?' Sara could not help retorting.
'I was merely endeavouring to put your mind at rest regarding my mother. It's so easy to get the wrong impression of someone by comparing them with a relative. Rest assured, when you meet my mother you'll have the greatest difficulty in believing she produced a son like me.'
Sara, watching him with suspicion, could scarcely believe that he was actually teasing her! And yet there was no denying the hint of humour still lurking in those amber eyes.
'I must admit,' she said at last, 'that your mother sounds nice.'
'You'll have that holiday with her, then?'
'I'm still very puzzled as to why you should be interested in my welfare—————-' She stopped, colouring a little, then added rather quickly, 'What I meant was, you scarcely know me, and I wouldn't have thought you would be concerned about————' Again she stopped, embarrassed and unsure of herself.
'Miss Morgan,' said Carl quietly and imperturbably, 'I am not concerned about your welfare, but I am concerned over my mother's disappointment in not having her visitor, which of course was to have been me. If you go you'll be doing me a favour, but I also feel that you'll be doing yourself some good by taking the break.' He paused a while and for some inconceivable reason Sara felt that he was suppressing anger. 'Ray will have to give more time to his wife, which should be good for both of them.' Grimness edged his voice as he ended. Sara suddenly wondered if his real aim was to get her away from Ray… Yes, she felt sure that this was his reason for the suggestion that she should take the holiday with his mother. But why was he so very interested in the situation at Njangola Farm, or the problems of its occupants? He could never in a million years be branded meddlesome—on the contrary, he had an innate aloofness which, at first, had gone far to setting Sara against him. It was too much of a puzzle, decided Sara, admitting that there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on it when it was quite impossible to understand it anyway.
She was intrigued, though, by Carl's description of his mother and by the idea that she would be ready to have a stranger staying as a guest in her home. This, along with the recently formed conviction that the break really would do her good, and the idea of Ray's having to spend more time with his wife, made Sara's decision far less difficult than she had at first supposed. And when Carl asked again if she was prepared to take the holiday she found herself saying yes without any further hesitation at all. Then, womanlike, she asked about the kind of clothes she would need.
'Oh, slacks and shirts—what you wear here,' was his casual reply. 'Mother likes to dine out now and then, though, so you'd better take something feminine as well.'
'Meaning a long dress?'
'Or a long skirt and one of those frilly tops——————- ' He
Hopped, eyes flickering over her as he shook his head. 'No, you don't want frills! You'd look like a scarecrow on exhibition. You'd look better in——————————————————————— '
'Thank you very much!' snapped Sara, conscious that two spots of angry colour had come instantly to her cheeks. 'I haven't been likened to a scarecrow before!'
The amber eyes actually laughed.
'No? Well, there's always a first time. You're thin, so why not admit it?'
'It's a darned sight better than being fat!' She glowered at him, at the same time staggered by the way the conversation had turned, the cool politeness having given way to what could only be termed outright rudeness on both their parts. 'Do you always go out of your way to be insulting to my sex?'
'Was I insulting? Maybe you're right. I apologise.' So casual that the apology entirely lost its meaning. 'And now, back to this question of clothes which seems to be of such major importance to you. Take something to wear on the beach and, as I said, slacks and shirts. Good lord, girl, you don't want me to advise you on clothes!' His glance was frowning; he seemed im
patient with himself for what he plainly considered a lapse of dignity.
'I'm sorry. I merely asked because I didn't know if I should be called upon to do any work.'
'Work?'
'Tasks—you did say that your mother was not too well, and as I'm a trained nurse…' Sara allowed her voice to fade as he shook his head.
'She's been upset by the death of her relative, naturally, and was off-colour in consequence. But there's no sign of any physical illness—at least,' he added with a sudden knitting of his brows, 'I hope there isn't.'
'When shall I be going?' Sara wanted to know a little while later when, Carl having finished his tea, they were ready to leave the caf6.
'That's up to you, and Ray.'
'Irma doesn't know anything about the idea yet,' Sara told him uneasily. 'If she doesn't care for it I shan't be able to go, of course.'
A strange silence followed before Carl said, 'I don't think you need have any worries on that score, Miss Morgan. Irma will be very happy to see you
'Happy?' Tingles ran along Sara's spine. She was fully convinced that Carl had, by some subtle means, tested out her sister's feeling about Sara's going away from Njangola Farm for a while. 'What reason have you for saying that?'
'I feel that Irma knows you're in need of a rest,' was all he said, and although Sara would dearly have liked to pursue the matter she realised by the implacable tone of his voice that he would not take kindly to answering any questions she might consider asking him.
At the car park they said goodbye; she watched him stride away to where his own car was parked, under the trees and out of the sun. Dust from the ground rose as another car drove away, then more dust as a station wagon left the car park. Carl strode on, a majestic figure, upright, slim, with the spring-like step of an athlete. He swung sideways as two naked piccanins came running from behind a wall and almost collided with him, then he passed beneath the shade of a tall eucalypt and proceeded along by a cactus hedge. The breeze caught his dark hair and she saw him lift a hand to put its tousled disorder to rights again. He was almost at his car when Sara turned away, to open the door of the runabout. Her face was thoughtful, her eyes pensive. Strangely, her mind had cleared totally of the picture of Ray, and her own desires that had never crystallised, and instead it was the picture of Carl's arrogant face with its hard eyes and inflexible mouth which was fixed in her mind. She was stirred by a restlessness she failed to understand, by the sensation of having a new vista opening out to her. She was vitally conscious of a lifting of her spirit, of an exciting feeling of expectancy which dispelled—for the present at least—all her dejection.
