“With this,” he explained, “I can see everything for miles around in every direction.”
He fiddled with the instrument, looked through it, and made some adjustment for height. Then he drew up a chair and invited Alix to look for herself.
He had trained it towards the river below. Here it made an enormous loop, on either side of which his farmlands lay. She found herself looking into a series of paddocks. Some contained Jersey calves; some were being grazed by heifers in calf; some by dairy cows. So strong was the telescope that she could see the hairs on the animals’ coats, their eyes and eyelashes. She exclaimed, “How extraordinary!” and thought how banal her comment sounded. She wasn’t usually tongue-tied—that was the effect Eric Gore seemed to have on her.
“Let me move it a little,” he said. “There. See that large paddock a little up the hillside, with the thorn hedge round it? You can see my newly imported Jersey bull there. Did you know that though Jersey cows are as tame as pet dogs, the bulls are among the fiercest of any breed? This one’s a real problem child.”
“You mean he’s dangerous?” asked Alix, looking at the splendid fawn and sable creature who stood so proudly alone.
“I do indeed. Actually, nobody is allowed to go near him but my manager and myself. Not that anyone wants to.”
“He does look a beauty.”
“He is. But as O’Rourke—that’s my manager—says, a divil to handle.”
When Lady Merrick had looked and admired, he said, “Now let me show you Paradise.”
When Alix looked again she could see the shrubs in her aunt’s garden, Colonel Braines walking his dog on the beach, people hitting balls on the golf course, Mr. Hunt baiting his hook in a small boat, three ostriches grazing on the low hill slopes...
“My dear Eric, it’s wonderful—a real peep-show,” cried Lady Merrick admiringly when she too had looked. Her jolly neigh rang out.
Alix thought, That’s just what it is—a peep-show. She knew now how he had known about her fishing. He had been watching her through this horrible telescope. It made her intensely uncomfortable to think of him, seeing everything that went on, spying.
Though why should it? she wondered, not quite understanding her own reactions. Perhaps it was that compelling ice-blue stare of his that was distorting everything for her.
“Of course, the whole point is that I can watch what is happening to my valuable stock without actually having to be down there all the time,” he explained easily. “Can’t trust these coloured fellows, as you know, Lady D. And my manager, excellent chap, can’t be everywhere at once. So I need to be able to keep my eye on things.
“Of course, of course. But I bet you see some amusing things going on in Paradise, too,” suggested Lady Merrick with a touch of unfamiliar archness.
He didn’t deny it. He even dared to smile at her—Alix—rather meaningly. She found her natural impulse towards amiability—which usually stood her in good stead—beginning to wear very thin.
To change a distasteful subject she said, “What wonderful flower arrangements, Mr. Gore. Who can have done them?”
“I do them myself, Miss Rayne. It amuses me. And we bachelors have to learn to do for ourselves, you know.”
“My dear Eric, you must marry,” Lady Merrick said deeply. “This lovely room would make such a perfect setting for your wife.”
“My wife. Ah yes. But first I must find her, mustn’t I?”
The ice-blue gaze returned to Alix, and to her fury she felt herself blushing. He turned his eyes away at once, with swift tact, but not before she had caught the gleam of satisfaction—and something else, acquisitiveness—in them. I detest him, she thought angrily.
The thought of him arranging bowls of flowers repelled her. Yet there was nothing effeminate about him. On the contrary, he was intensely, disturbingly male. That uneasy thrill she had felt at their first meeting returned to trouble her. She felt strangely ill at ease.
The whole evening, in fact, was fast turning into a nightmare. She had hoped it would be better when they had changed, and the other guests—all strangers to Alix, from Edward and the surrounding farming country—had arrived.
But it was worse. Eric Gore’s manner towards her became so noticeably possessive. As if, she thought indignantly, he had some rights in her. As if he were showing her off.
I’m imagining it, she told herself—she was, indeed, far from being the sort of girl who thought every man she met was falling for her.
But she knew she wasn’t imagining this. She knew, intuitively, that Eric Gore—so handsome in his well-cut dinner clothes as to be almost startling—had in fact been attracted from the very moment of their meeting. She guessed, too, at the enormous gusto in him; and that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
During the long, superlative dinner—which she forced herself to eat, so as not to cause comment, though she felt as if it would choke her—she caught interested glances. Arch looks. Raised eyebrows. She could sense that people were intrigued, noticing. She even caught a whisper, indiscreetly loud, later over the coffee and liqueurs: “Such a delightful, unspoiled girl. But a little too sweet-and-twenty for Eric, wouldn’t you think?”
She blushed to her hairline with mortification.
How dare he lay her open to this sort of thing? What right had he? And why didn’t her aunt see what was going on? Or did she see—and not mind?
The endless evening ended at last. Alix must have acquitted herself better than she knew, so warm were the invitations she received from the other guests to visit them at their homes. It gave her considerable pleasure to be able to say, “Thank you so much—you are so kind—but I’m afraid I’m leaving in a day or two.”
That puzzled them, she could see. Well, let it.
“A perfectly delightful evening,” her aunt boomed in a replete voice as they drove home. “Do admit, dearest, Eric does things extraordinarily well.”
Alix obligingly admitted it. Thank heaven, she wouldn’t be seeing him again, she thought.
She wasn’t clairvoyant. She had no means of knowing how mistaken she was—nor of the desperate danger into which she—and Richard Herrold—were to be rim by Eric Gore.
Now that she was leaving it, Alix realised how much she already loved Paradise. Though she had decided on her course of action and was determined to follow it, at heart she really didn’t want to go. Yet apart from Aunt Drusilla, what, really, was there to keep her here?
She didn’t know. Once again—it seemed to be happening all the time now—Alix was at a loss to understand herself. I’m becoming what the American movies call “just a crazy, mixed-up kid,” she accused herself wryly. Time I took hold of myself.
Lady Merrick, she knew, didn’t want her to go either. But fortunately her mind was so much occupied with the coming meeting at Northolme, which would decide the fate of Paradise, that when Tuesday—the day Alix was to leave on the bus—came along she had less emotion to spare for their parting than might otherwise have been the case.
She contented herself with saying gruffly, “I’m going to miss you abominably, my dear. Now promise, you’ll come straight back if...”
“I promise, darling,” Alix said, kissing her.
“Don’t bother to ask. Just arrive.”
“I will. I swear I will, Aunt Drusilla. Shall I go and get the car out?”
“Do, dear.”
Lady Merrick was going to drive her in the Dodge to the junction with the national road, where she would pick up the bus. Alix set off for the garage, which was round at the back of the house.
When she came back, in the Dodge, she found another car standing in the drive. It was Eric Gore’s glittering American monster, with his driver at the wheel. As she got out of the Dodge this man came towards her, touched his cap, and proffered a square envelope.
It was addressed to herself.
“From Master, Miss,” the coloured driver told her. Alix opened it and found a single sheet of thick, expensive notepaper inside. She read the
words on it—written in a curiously spidery, pointed writing—with mounting vexation.
... Please do not deprive me of the pleasure of sending you to Port Elizabeth in my car. It has to go there, in any case, to pick up some goods I ordered there. Frederick, my chauffeur, is an excellent driver. He will do whatever you ask.
The note was signed Yours devotedly, Eric Gore.
Speechless, Alix handed it over to her aunt, who had come outside on seeing the two cars.
“Really...” she began on a note of extreme exasperation.
She saw, however, that her aunt was beaming.
“There you are, dear, isn’t that enormously kind of Eric? You’ll be much better off than in the bus. And there’s no need to worry about that—I’ll see to cancelling for you.”
“But I...”
“Come with me, Frederick, and get Miss Alix’s air-cases. They’ll go in the back seat easily. Only two....”
“I have no intention...”
“Dear child, you surely wouldn’t hurt Eric’s feelings, after he’s been so thoughtful, by refusing such a kind offer?”
“I don’t...”
“The car has a radio. Music while you ride! And look—a lunch basket for you. Really, Eric is too sweet. Think how impressed the Murrays will be when you arrive in style in this Gorgeous Beast of a car, ha! ha!”
With a sigh Alix gave up. She kissed her aunt again, hugged Nelson, and climbed into the car. Perhaps it was true that it had been going to Port Elizabeth anyway—in which case perhaps it was rather silly of her to object to going in it. And why should Eric Gore lie?
Unless—a sudden suspicion struck her—her aunt had told him that she might be coming back, and he was ensuring that she would be under an obligation to him after all.
Rather far-fetched, she thought. Too obvious for the ordinary person, such as herself. Oh well—too late to change her mind now. Frederick was revving up his engine. Her aunt was standing waving on the steps.
“Goodbye, darling. Bon voyage. My love to the Murrays.”
“Goodbye, thanks for everything, Aunt Drusilla.”
She was looking at her aunt, she realized, through a mist of foolish tears. Resolutely she shook them away, and gazed for what might be the last time at the lovely lagoon, and the white and pastel houses nestling so cosily on its green banks.
“Goodbye, Paradise,” she said aloud.
Frederick turned round with an enquiring look.
“Nothing,” she told him hastily.
He drove on, through the ranks of pines and wattles and gums, down the incline to the rough causeway, past the salt meadows which were now flooded by the incoming tide, and on to the national road. This the big car proceeded to eat up at a steady sixty-five, which increased to seventy on the straight. It was glorious. Alix opened the windows and let the warm spring air blow on her. Mild exhilaration gradually ousted her annoyance and depression. She was off—on her way to Rhodesia; to Bernard; perhaps to everything she wanted of life.
Perhaps ...
The Murrays were indeed impressed when she stepped out at their door.
“My dear child, how sumptuous,” Mrs. Murray exclaimed. She directed Fredrick where to put Alix’s cases, then kissed her, gave the driver a tip, and drew her guest indoors.
“We were so surprised when Drusilla rang up,” she began; then seeing Alix grow pink, quickly ran on to talk of her journey, and said that tea was waiting, Sarah would be in with it in just one minute, and would she like to wash first or did thirst come before cleanliness?
Alix laughed and said yes, please, it did. She liked Mrs. Murray and was thankful to be spending the night with her instead of alone in some hotel. She settled down to give her all the news of Paradise, and told her of the portentous meeting which must be just about to take place.
Mrs. Murray was entranced.
“It’s too dramatic,” she exclaimed. “Do you suppose Drusilla has a hope of getting the better of Andrew?”
“Not really, Mrs. Murray. Actually, she admits she’s seen the writing on the wall, as she calls it—but she won’t let Uncle Edgar’s beloved Paradise go without a struggle.”
“But what, really, can she do?”
“I don’t quite know. She didn’t say. But she hinted at what she called ‘nuisance value.’ She and the owner of that car I came in are in this together. I shan’t know what’s happened till I hear from Aunt Drusilla up in Salisbury.”
“I don’t know how you could bear to tear yourself away,” Mrs. Murray exclaimed.
Alix found herself thinking, Nor do I.
She slept badly that night. She wasn’t sure whether what she was doing was wise or foolish. But it was too late to look back now. Soon she would be in the airliner, flying to Johannesburg where she must spend the night before changing into a larger airliner for Salisbury.
That was another thing that kept her awake. She had never flown before. Ghastly to think of making her first flight alone. Would she be scared? Air-sick? But didn’t they have charming air hostesses who fed you glucose sweets and gave you brandy if you looked ill?
She fell asleep at length and dreamed she was flying over the lagoon in a tiny plane, and then it turned out she was merely watching a flight of egrets, and Richard was saying, “I regret to have to tell you that those lovely-looking creatures are by profession tick-birds.”
And she was saying, “So disillusioning,” when there came a knock on the door, and Mrs. Murray’s maid Maria came in with her early tea.
“It goin’ to be a lovely day, Miss Ellix,” she said.
“Oh, good.” At least she wouldn’t be flying into storms and gales. Through the drawn curtains she could see the sun rising in splendour, in a sky all rosy and honey-gold. It did indeed look like a lovely day.
To amuse her Mrs. Murray took her out shopping, gave her coffee in a fashionable store which was putting on a mannequin show of spring fashions, and drove her back in time for lunch. Her plane was to leave at three.
A Zephyr car was standing outside the Murray’s door when they drew up there. Mrs. Murray said, “A visitor. Who can it be? I wonder.”
Alix glanced at it indifferently. Richard’s car had been a Zephyr, she remembered. What fun that drive in it had been.
As she followed Mrs. Murray towards the drawing room she heard her give a little scream of pleasure.
“Richard! My dear boy! What a delightful surprise! What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to lunch, if you’ll have me,” said Richard’s pleasant voice. “I’m on my way to Salisbury to see this chap who’s holding down my job till I’ve finished down here. Flying by this afternoon’s plane as a matter of fact.”
“But what an extraordinary coincidence. Alix is here. And she’s going by the afternoon flight too.”
“Is she?” Richard asked calmly. “Then we can travel up together, can’t we, Alix? Fun, m’m?”
Alix moving forward in something of a daze, sank gratefully into the chair Richard had pulled forward. Her knees, unaccountably, felt suddenly weak. She glanced up at him to thank him, and looked hurriedly away again. She didn’t want to meet that look in his eyes. A look of warm delight. Of—love. (Had she only imagined that nearly-inaudible “I love you so much?”) Though he must have been driving for some hours, he looked fresh as the morning. He looked on top of the world. He had the air of one who had never had it better. Alix didn’t know whether her uppermost feeling was indignation because she couldn’t help suspecting that this sudden journey of his had something to do with herself, or relief because now she wouldn’t be making her first flight alone.
She wasn’t, had she known it, alone in her suspicions. Mrs. Murray—who was the sort of pretty, roundabout, motherly woman of whom people meeting her said at once, “Isn’t she a darling?”—had the keenest possible nose for Romance; and she scented it now.
Surely, she thought, it was the oddest thing—unless romance had something to do with it—that Richard should be flying to Sal
isbury today of all days?
She pricked up her ears when Richard asked with a grin, “And how was the bus ride, Alix? Not too bad, I hope?”
She cried merrily, “Bus ride! My dear Richard, if you could have seen the rich limousine in which she arrived! Complete with uniformed chauffeur too. Bus indeed!”
She realised, in the moment’s silence that followed, that she had dropped a brick. Richard’s face had seemed to close up. His pleasant mouth looked quite grim. And Alix was decidedly pink. She was offering a hurried explanation—though one of her favourite precepts, learned from her father, was “Never explain.”
“I’d actually booked on the bus. But then it turned out that Mr. Gore’s car was coming in to P.E., and my aunt insisted that I should take the offer of a lift.” Which if it wasn’t absolutely true, at least couldn’t be classified as a downright lie; and it did have the effect of defrosting Richard’s face. He looked, in fact, quite pleasant as he answered carelessly, “Why not? You’d have found the bus’s conducted tour a bit tiresome, I expect.”
Ah-ha, thought Mrs. Murray. So the owner of the big car is a rival. The plot thickens.
“You could have driven Alix over yourself if only you’d known, couldn’t you?” she suggested naughtily. But Richard wasn’t to be drawn. He said, “Yes, couldn’t I?” and forthwith engaged Mr. Murray in talk about something quite different. Man talk. Mrs. Murray turned away from it to Alix.
“Such fun that you’ll have Richard’s company this evening in Johannesburg,” she said brightly. “It’s not a place where a young girl can wander around alone, you know.”
Welcome to Paradise Page 7
