Valley of the Devil

by Yvonne Whittal

  The Sunday afternoon silence in and around the farm house was druggingly intense and she actually dozed off, but she surfaced half an hour later to hear water running in the bathroom. She realised that it had to be Rafe taking a shower, but the thought did not alarm her.

  She somehow went to sleep again, and the next time she awoke she found Rafe standing beside the bed, the whiteness of the towel draped about his lean hips contrasting heavily with the tanned, muscular fitness of his otherwise naked body. His hair was damp and combed back severely from his broad forehead, and there was something in the way he looked at her that stirred a half-forgotten memory, but that look was gone before Jo could analyse it.

  He lifted a knee on to the bed and then he was leaning over her, imprisoning her with a hand on either side of her body. Her pulses fluttered a little wildly, and her gaze left his only to travel across his wide shoulders and down along his hair roughened chest to his taut, flat stomach.

  'Leave me alone, Rafe,' she pleaded huskily, the clean male smell of him stirring her senses while that aura of raw masculinity aroused a primitive and deeply feminine desire to submit to his male dominance.

  'I wish I could leave you alone,' he growled, 'but I've been thinking about you all morning, and I can't shake the memory of how good you felt in my arms last night.'

  'Oh, please!' Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and she pushed at his arms in an attempt to get away, but he straddled her body and undid the belt of her robe before she could stop him. 'Don't, Rafe!

  Please don't!'

  Her plea went unnoticed, and a wave of helplessness surged through her. To resist would result in an undignified brawl from which she knew she would emerge the loser, and she stilled unwillingly beneath him while he took off her robe and slid it out beneath her. Rafe's fingers were deft as he undid the front catch of her bra, and the flimsy garment followed the same path as her robe. The only thing left was the triangle of lace covering the most intimate part of her body, but she was soon stripped of that too.

  'It's been a long time.' His eyes devoured her while he drew the pins from her hair, and he combed his fingers gently through it before his hands acquainted themselves once again with the womanly contours of her body. 'I've been starved too long, and I'm hungry for you, Jo.'

  'Oh, God!' His touch was sending little shafts of unwanted pleasure cascading through her, and the words left her lips on a groan. 'I hate you for doing this to me, Rafe!'

  'I know you hate me, but I also know I can still make you want me, so...' His smouldering glance held hers while he whipped off his towel and lowered himself on to her. 'Don't fight it this time, Jo,' he murmured, taking her mouth in a drugging kiss.

  She didn't fight it. She couldn't. Not when he was arousing those delicious fires which only he could assuage completely. There was no point in pretending that she did not want him. Her mind might continue to deny it, but her body would betray her every time, and she knew she would simply have to learn to live with that humiliating fact. He could know that she wanted him, but he must never know that she still loved him. Never! She would rather die than let him see into her heart again. Jo worked out a comfortable routine for herself during the next three weeks to keep herself occupied, while also giving herself time to pursue her own interests. Initially she encountered a certain amount of opposition from the staff when she stepped in and took charge of the house and the garden, but she soon won them over with her patience and understanding.

  Her Volkswagen Jetta had arrived by rail during her first week at Satanslaagte, and it had felt good to be mobile again. Rafe had Transferred the first installment of a monthly allowance into her bank account. Jo had discovered this on her first trip to town, but money was still a touchy subject with her, and she had delved into her own savings to purchase a few items she had required.

  She had also bought a few crochet needles and cotton. Crocheting was an enjoyable pastime, and it was something she could pick up and put down without losing the basic thread of what she was doing. What she had not expected was that the staff's interest in her crocheting would result in a twice-weekly homecraft class for the wives of the farm labourers.

  Elsie had been the first to ask Jo if she would teach her to crochet, and then—one by one—the others had come. By the end of Jo's third week at Satanslaagte she was teaching six women to crochet, as well as k i t i l , and they had arranged to get together twi ce a week, in the afternoon, under the shady oak behind the house.

  It was during Jo's fourth week on the farm that Lorin Scheepers put in her first appearance. Jo was having tea out on the front stoep on the Wednesday afternoon when a dusty BMW sped up to the house and stopped close to the steps with an abruptness that made the tyres skid on the gravel. Jo rose to her feet, recognising the driver as Lorin before she got out of the car. Fritz recognised her as well. The Alsatian ran forward, eager for a pat, but Lorin leapt past him on to the shady stoep as if he did not exist, and Fritz padded back to Jo's side with a soft whine of disappointment in his throat. Lorin hadn't changed. The dark hair was still tied back into that casual pony-tail, and there was still that enviable buoyancy in her step when she walked. Long dark lashes framed crystal-clear blue eyes, and they flashed at Jo with that well-remembered look of disdain in their depths. Jo stood silent and erect while Lorin dug her fingers into the pockets of her tight-fitting khaki trousers and leaned back against the trellised railing to cross one dusty riding boot over the other.

  'I honestly didn't think Rafe would be crazy enough to want to marry you again, b u t . . . ' beneath the brown shirt Lorin's slim shoulders lifted in a shrug '... I guess that's his business.'

  That was typical of Lorin. She did not waste time on polite preliminaries and went straight in to the attack. Someone really ought to teach her manners, Jo was thinking as she gestured calmly towards the tray. 'May I offer you a cup of tea?'

  Lorin waved aside Jo's invitation. 'This isn't a social visit. My parents sent me to ask if you and Rafe would join us for dinner this coming Friday evening. It's my father's sixtieth birthday and they're having a couple of friends over.'

  'I'll mention it to Rafe.'

  Lorin turned to leave, but she paused at the top of the steps to subject Jo to another contemptuous stare.

  'You didn't fit in before, so what makes you think that you'll fit in now?'

  It was at this point that Fritz seemed to sense the animosity between the two women and, shifting closer to Jo's side, he let out a low, throaty growl. Jo placed a silencing hand on the Alsatian's ruff and forced a smile to her lips. 'I'll let you know as soon as I've discovered the answer for myself.'

  Lorin's gaze dropped briefly to the animal at Jo's side, and a faintly malevolent smile lifted the corners of her beautiful mouth. Td appreciate it if you'd tell Rafe that I'll meet him at the usual place tomorrow,'

  she said.

  Jo's breathing felt restricted, as if her lungs had suddenly been clamped in a vice, but outwardly she remained calm and composed. 'I'll tell him,' she promised, her glance steady. Fritz relaxed his guard and lay down again beside Jo's chair as Lorin sped away from the house, but for Jo it took a little longer to rid herself of the tension gripping her insides. She sat down heavily, her hands clenching the arms of the cane chair. The usual place? Where was the usual place? And why did Rafe and Lorin meet each other there?

  Fritz stirred beside her and sat up with a little whine of excitement in his throat as Rafe approached them from the east side of the house.

  'Traitor,' Rafe muttered accusingly, leaning down to give Fritz an affectionate pat before he took off his wide-brimmed safari hat and helped himself to a cup of tea. 'Was that Lorin I saw leaving?' he asked over his shoulder.

  'Yes.' The word came out in an angry hiss, but Jo controlled herself instantly. 'Her parents sent her over to invite us to dinner this coming Friday evening. I believe it's her father's sixtieth birthday.'

  'Did you accept?'

  'I said I'd speak to you first.' She w
ished he would sit down while he drank his tea instead of towering over her and giving her a crick in the neck.

  'I imagine it's time we started accepting invitations as well as issuing a few of our own to the neighbours.'

  It was all a terrible farce. After nearly four weeks of marriage Rafe considered it was time they went on display to the public as a happily married couple. But it was all a lie Jo wanted to laugh, but she hastily curbed the feeling for fear she might end up crying.

  She got up slowly and walked a few paces away from Rafe towards the variegated ivy ranking along one end of the trellised stoep. It helped to quell that feeling of hysteria inside her.

  'Lorin asked me to give you a message.' She welcomed the warmth of the afternoon sun against her back when she turned to face Rafe. 'She said she would meet you tomorrow at the usual place.'

  Rafe inclined his head briefly to acknowledge the message, but his expression did not alter while he finished his tea and placed his empty cup on the tray.

  'I'll be a little late for dinner this evening,' was all he said as he picked up his hat and walked off in the same direction he had come earlier.

  Jo watched with mixed feelings as he disappeared around the corner of the house. She was disappointed, angry, hurt and—she might as well admit it —jealous! She had no right to expect an explanation, but she had hoped he would give her one out of courtesy, if nothing else.

  'Is Miss Lorin having dinner here this evening?' Elsie wanted to know when Jo carried the tea tray into the kitchen.

  'I didn't invite her.' There was a hint of defiance in Jo's manner as she placed the tray on the well-scrubbed table where Elsie sat peeling potatoes.

  'It's time Miss Lorin found herself a husband of her own instead of running after '

  'Instead of running after Master Rafe?' Jo filled in for her when she broke off abruptly with an embarrassed look on her face. 'Is that what you were going to say, Elsie?'

  'I'm sorry, madam.'

  'You don't have to apologise.' Jo's thoughtful gaze followed the woman as she got up to dispose of the potato peelings. 'I realise now that you knew and understood more than I ever gave you credit for.'

  Elsie wiped her hands on a cloth and smoothed her starched white apron against her plump body before she turned back to Jo with a grave expression on her face. 'I'm glad you've come back, madam. Master Rafe was never the same after you left, and this past y e a r . . . ' Her words trailed off into silence and she shook her greying head as if she considered she had said too much.

  'What about this past year, Elsie?' Jo prompted with an undeniable curiosity. Elsie hesitated, clearly unsure of herself, then she moved closer to Jo and lowered her voice almost to a whisper as if she feared that she might be overheard. 'Master Rafe and Madam Averil had a terrible argument last year in April with Master Rafe's birthday,' she explained, bringing her hands together in prayer-like fashion against her ample bosom as if she was reliving that frightening experience. 'I couldn't hear what they were arguing about, but Master Rafe left Satanslaagte the next day, and Madam Averil walked around the house looking like someone who was at death's door. Master Rafe came back to the farm a week later, but he looked as if he hadn't slept or eaten for days, and ever since then he's been behaving like the devil himself.'

  Jo didn't know what to make of this. She could verify the fact that there was this unfamiliar undercurrent of devilish anger in everything Rafe said or did, but she could not imagine him locked in a violent argument with his mother and, judging from what Elsie had said, it must have been violent. What had caused that terrible argument? And where had Rafe rushed off to that he should have returned a week later in such a state of neglect? Jo wished she knew the answer to those questions, but she doubted that she ever would.

  It was late that night, while she lay awake in bed listening to Rafe's deep, even breathing, that she remembered something else that Elsie had said.

  'Master Rafe was never the same after you left.'

  What could Elsie have meant by that? Jo wondered about it, but she supposed that, as with everything else, she would never know the answer.

  Jo drove in to Beaufort West on the Friday afternoon to collect the pen she had had engraved with Leon Scheepers's initials. They were having dinner at the Scheepers's farm that evening, and she was not looking forward to it when she arrived back at Satanslaagte.

  She had parked her Jetta in the garage beside Rafe's metallic green Mercedes and was walking towards the house when she saw a small, dusty truck parked outside the east wing of the building where the extra rooms had been added. Despite her growing curiosity she had been reluctant to intrude on the building operations during the past weeks, but this time her curiosity got the better of her, and she walked purposefully in that direction.

  A young black man in a paint-stained overall was lifting one of several small, heavy-looking boxes off the back of the truck. He carried the box through the open door into the building, and Jo circled a heap of sand and gravel, taking care not to ruin the spiky heels of her shoes when she followed him inside. The windows had been opened wide to let in air, but the smell of fresh paint filled her nostrils and caught sharply at her throat as she stood looking about her. There was a counter at the far end of the room, and beyond the counter was a smaller room with a window overlooking the koppie. Both rooms led into a passage through an arch, and Jo was about to take an involuntary step in that direction when Stan appeared in the archway.

  He stopped in his tracks, visibly startled by Jo's presence, but a loud thump, followed by a muttered oath, echoed down the passage towards them, and Stan turned from Jo to cast a frowning glance in that direction.

  'Hey, Piet! You be careful with those tiles, man!' He shouted his warning down the passage and received a muttered reply before he turned back to Jo with a polite but clearly nervous, 'Good afternoon, madam.'

  'Hello, Stan.' She smiled and gestured apologetically with her hands. 'I'm sorry if I startled you.'

  'I didn't hear you come in, madam.'

  Was that an accusation, or was he merely stating a fact? Jo wondered about this as she walked towards the wooden counter which formed a division between the two rooms and she trailed her fingers lightly over the smooth top. There was something about the layout of these rooms that disturbed her, but she could not decide what it was.

  'What are these extra rooms going to be used for?' she asked, aware of Stan's dark eyes following every move she was making. When he did not answer her she turned to see him lower his gaze to the bare concrete floor and shift his weight uncomfortably from one booted foot to the other. He looked awkward and embarrassed, and suddenly Jo felt sorry for him. She was not going to have her curiosity satisfied at someone else's expense. 'I suppose I'm poking my nose into something which doesn't concern me, and if that's the case, then I won't pry.'

  'This is a flat for Madam Averil,' he answered her question unexpectedly, taking out his handkerchief and wiping away the film of nervous perspiration which had gathered on his upper lip. 'She'll be moving in here when she comes back from this visit to her sister in England.'

  Jo felt the shock of his statement like a blow to the forehead, and for one startled moment she reeled mentally. 'I see,' she heard herself responding, but she really didn't see at all. Why was Averil Andersen moving out of her own home and into this small flat which Rafe had had built on to the house? Who had made this decision? Averil? Or had it been Rafe? But why?

  She had a feeling that Stan knew the answers, but the look on his face silenced the queries that clamoured to her lips.

  'Please, madam,' he begged anxiously. 'Master Rafe will kill me if he knows I told you.'

  Jo did not pretend to understand the reason for this secrecy, but she was not going to add to Stan's embarrassment by insisting on an explanation. 'My lips are sealed,' she promised. CHAPTER FIVE

  Jo TOOK a sip of her after-dinner liqueur and allowed her mind to wander for a moment from the conversation around her.

&nbs
p; The dinner party at the Scheepers's farm was not the ordeal she had imagined it would be. Several other guests had been invited, many of whom Jo had not met before, but Leon and Anne Scheepers had welcomed her so warmly that the three-year lapse in her marriage to Rafe might never have occurred, and her nervousness had waned, leaving her able to cope with the few odd remarks which had come her way. Lorin had not been as gracious as her parents. She had acknowledged Jo with a cool, disdainful nod, and after that she had ignored her while she had unashamedly monopolised Rafe's attention whenever the opportunity had presented itself.

  Chris Scheepers, Lorin's brother, had arrived late for his father's birthday party. He had walked in, full of apologies, when everyone had already helped themselves to the attractively prepared buffet dinner. His gaze had swept the room to settle on Jo, and that warm smile she remembered so well had embraced her across the room. Chris had been there for her whenever she had needed a friend, and she would always be grateful to him for that.

  The atmosphere at the party had been jovial from the start, but perhaps Lorin deserved a special vote of thanks for making Rafe smile more than once that evening, Jo was thinking as her glance shifted to that slender, crimson-clad figure at Rafe's side. Lorin placed a possessive hand on the sleeve of his black blazer, and she tilted her head back to look up into his face as she spoke to him. Rafe laughed at whatever it was Lorin had said to him, and Jo caught her breath on a sharp, agonising hiss which happily went unnoticed amid the clamour of voices around her.

  She had caught a glimpse of the old Rafe in that laugh which Lorin had drawn from him. In that brief moment Jo had seen again the man she had fallen so madly in love with almost four years ago, and her longing for that warm, caring man was suddenly so intense that it aroused a stabbing ache in the very core of her being.

  Jo felt a little faint as she picked up her glass of liqueur and excused herself from the party of women clustered together in the corner of the living-room. She needed some air, but a hand gripped her arm before she could leave the room, and she turned, smiling when she found herself looking up into Chris Scheepers's laughing blue eyes.