by Anne Hampson
'I was not!'
'Were you intending to make love out there, in a field!'
For a moment it seemed that all her good intentions would be swept away by the sheer fury which his words had created within her. But she was fighting for their future, so she crushed her anger and pleaded with him once again.
'I want to tell you everything, Carl————— '
'I'm not in the mood for lies!'
She looked straightly at him.
'I don't waste my time telling lies, Carl,' she returned with quiet dignity.
He stared into her unflinching gaze and within seconds Sara was letting out a long breath of relief. She had won. Her frank and honest manner had caught his attention and he was prepared to hear what she had to say. But, absurdly, the relief she felt at her narrow escape had brought on a drained, fatigued sensation and before she could stop herself she had burst once more into tears.
'Sara!' It was a cry from the heart, wrenched from Carl as with a couple of long strides he brought himself close to her and, taking her in his arms, he held her quietly, aware of her wonderment at his action, aware that her tears were ceasing miraculously, and when at length she looked up at him questioningly all harshness had left his face and she gave a little gasp of disbelief at what she saw in his eyes.
She clung to him, content to be close, forgetting for one exquisite moment that he was waiting for her explanation. He loved her—loved her! She had seen it for herself, in those eyes that, only a moment ago, had shot such terror into her.
She whispered shyly, into the cool white linen of his shirt against which her tear-stained face was pressed, 'Carl… I love you.'
Silence, profound and unfathomable. To Sara, it seemed that her husband's heart was beating a little faster than before, that a great sigh of thankfulness rose up from somewhere deep within him.
'My Sara…' His murmured words, tender and contrite, vibrated gently against her hair. 'My dear love, what did I say to you?'
'It doesn't matter.' She still clung to him, desiring nothing more than to remain there, quiet… safe. 'I know now it was jealousy—and—and I'm glad that you can be jealous.'
'I had no right to condemn you, my darling. I should have known you better than that.'
It was all she needed, for him to express trust even though he had not yet heard one single word of her excuses. She hesitated no longer, but related everything to him, standing close still, with his gentle hands unconsciously covering the bruises he had so recently made on her shoulders. She left nothing out, and as she talked he quite naturally made one or two incredulous exclamations, and once or twice he inserted a question. Sara, watching his expression as it underwent a series of changes, saw it become one of glowering fury at Ray's action in forcing his attentions on her, especially after she had told him she was in love with her husband.
'Darling,' murmured Carl when at last she had finished her narrative, 'can you ever forgive me for saying such hurtful things to you?'
'It's all over, and in any case, as I said, I know that your anger stemmed from jealousy.'
'Dearest, when did you discover that you loved me?'
She shook her head vaguely.
'I knew for sure the night we were in the garden, but I have a feeling that I loved you long before then.'
'That night,' curiously as his eyes looked deeply into hers. 'Do you know, Sara, that I almost——————- ' He stopped as he saw her rising colour, then said in tones of tender amusement, 'You look adorable when you blush, my love.' He caught her to him and for a long moment she knew the thrill of his kiss, the strength of his body against hers. And when he released her she was no longer shy and blushing, for she was able to say, a loving smile fluttering on her lips,
'I wanted you that night, Carl, so if you'd asked me, then I would—would—————- ' But it was too much and she shyly left her husband to say the rest, which he did, a hint of tender humour in his voice.
'——— have come to me willingly?'
'Yes, indeed!' She snuggled her head into his shoulder and for a while neither spoke. It was Carl who eventually broke the silence, speaking about Irma and Bernard and saying he hoped everything would turn out all right for them.
'As you know,' he went on, 'I was very troubled about her. You see, my love, I didn't want your life to be blighted by her committing suicide.' He looked down into his wife's lovely face. 'I know now that I must have been falling in love with you at that time, otherwise why should I have wanted to safeguard you?'
'I believed it was Irma—oh, not that you'd fallen in love with her,' she went on to add swiftly, 'but your concern.'
Carl made no comment on this, and what he said next concerned Ray.
'In my opinion he ought to leave here. He hasn't made many friends and when Irma goes he'll have no one.' Meaning of course that Carl would never visit the farm again, nor would he let Sara visit it—not that she would want to, though, once Irma had left.
'It's as well that Irma is leaving,' Carl added as if reading his wife's thoughts, 'because now that our marriage is normal your place is here, running your own home, not working all hours in someone else's. I wouldn't have allowed you to continue as you have been doing. You could have gone over as a visitor, but certainly not as a servant.' The stern inflection in his voice left Sara in no doubt at all that she would have been forced to obey him. Yes, she thought, it was a happy circumstance all round that her sister was leaving Njangola, to find a new life elsewhere.
After a little while she asked, 'Was your reason for sending me to your mother that you wanted to bring Ray and Irma together?'
He nodded.
'That was the main idea—and yet, looking back now, I feel convinced that some of my anxiety was for you, Sara. You see, I had by that time begun to see things which had escaped me before. As I said to you once, I was beginning to realise that you were more to be admired than despised. Yes,' he added reflectively, 'I feel that, perhaps subconsciously, I wanted you to have a rest.'
Sara would have continued with her questioning, for there were still one or two things to be cleared up, but Carl, deciding there were far more delightful ways of spending the half hour or so that was still to go before lunch, took her by the hand and together they stepped through the open window on to the verandah, where they stood for a while, looking out over the delightful gardens of their home. Sara drew a deep, contented breath and said, not really meaning to speak her thoughts aloud, 'Peace at last… the peace of mind I've craved ever since I came here.' And then, turning to her husband, 'Will Irma be happy, do you think?'
'As happy as it's possible to be under the circumstances. I, like you, feel that she'll walk again one day.'
'Do you, Carl? Oh, but I sincerely hope so!'
'You haven't mentioned the chair?'
'No—and I was thinking about it. Will it arrive before they go?'
'I'll try and hurry it up,' promised Carl.
'It'll save Bernard buying one for her. They'll need all their money for the farm they're buying.' Sara paused, frowning a little. 'I do hope they can find what they want…' Her words checked slowly as she noticed the expression on her husband's face. His voice matched it to perfection as he said,
'Sara, you've just mentioned peace of mind, remember? I won't have you troubling your head any more about Irma, understand?'
She swallowed, and nodded meekly.
'Yes, Carl,' she answered in a low tone, 'I understand.'
All sternness left his face then, replaced by an expression that brought a glow of sheer happiness to her lovely eyes. She stared up at him, her lips quivering slightly, and parted in the sort of invitation that her husband could not be expected to ignore. She found herself caught in a vortex of ardour as, crushing her slender young body to him, he kissed her passionately on the mouth, the throat, and lower down where the tender curves of her breast were cupped in his hand. There was a possessiveness in his lovemaking that thrilled her, a mastery that made her feel
weak and submissive, with a yearning to be conquered. And yet, conversely, she knew a feeling of importance, because a man like Carl had chosen her for his life's partner, chosen her from all others, to be his alone.
'My dearly beloved wife…' Carl's voice was vibrant and husky with ardour held in cheek. 'Why should I be so lucky as to find a treasure like you?'
She gave a shaky little laugh, with which she contrived to disguise her own heightened emotions.
'I was just thinking how lucky I was! I shall never know how you came to choose me—— ' The rest was lost for ever beneath the pressure of her husband's lips on hers. And in fact she was not allowed an opportunity of speaking for some considerable time, and when at last her husband did draw his mouth from hers for a moment or two she found she had no desire at all to speak, and she merely stirred contentedly in his arms, ecstasy flooding through her veins, unspeakable joy filling her heart.
