Valley of the Devil

by Yvonne Whittal

  The store-room was littered with large, empty crates and cardboard boxes, and rusted iron standards lay scattered on the floor against the far wall. The remaining space was cluttered with broken, antiquated farming equipment, and everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. It was a big room, big enough to accommodate at least twenty people, and an idea took shape in her mind as she stood looking about her. This would be an ideal place to meet with the women who attended the twice-weekly homecraft classes.

  Jo was jolted out of her contemplative stance moments later when a mouse darted past her feet, and she leapt aside, dislodging a cardboard box with her flailing arm. It tumbled to the concrete floor, taking several smaller boxes with it, and in the process it also stirred up a cloud of dust that billowed wildly in the shaft of afternoon sunlight which entered the store-room through the old sash windows. The dormant layer of dust had already irritated her sensitive nostrils, but, set in motion, it started a riot in her nasal passages. Jo sneezed... and sneezed again. She had to get out of the store-room, she was thinking as she sneezed repeatedly into her lacy handkerchief. She turned, and had barely taken a pace in the direction of the door when the gritty sound of a heavy boot on the sandy floor made her look up sharply to see Rafe's massive, khaki-clad frame blocking the exit.

  Her heart leapt nervously into her throat and seemed to remain there. Was she trespassing?

  'Looking for something?' he asked when she stopped sneezing, and she could not tell whether he was angry with her for being there, or merely curious.

  'No, I—I was just wondering—'

  'You were wondering?' he prompted when she halted with uncertainty.

  Jo blew her nose and wiped the tears out of her eyes to give herself time to think. Should I risk it?

  Should I ask him? Oh, what the hell! 'I was wondering if this store-room was being used for anything in particular?'

  'As you can see—' with a sweeping gesture of his hand he encompassed the entire room and its contents '—it's being used mainly for hoarding rubbish. Why do you ask?'

  'The group of women attending the homecraft classes has grown to such an extent that we're in desperate need of a place to work, and this store-room would be ideal if—if you would allow me the use of it.'

  Her words seemed to hang heavily in the dusty air between them as they stood facing each other, and Jo held her breath when Rafe finally averted his narrowed, probing glance to survey the room. His mouth had tightened and, watching him, she saw his strong jaw harden. Was he going to refuse?

  'A couple of beams need to be reinforced, some of the window-panes will have to be replaced, and the walls and woodwork could do with a coat of paint.' His eyes met hers as he delivered his verdict. 'It may take a week before it will be ready for you to move in.'

  Jo felt a little giddy with relief and excitement. 'That would be perfect.'

  'I'll make the necessary arrangements first thing in the morning,' he said, turning to leave.

  'Rafe!' Her hand on his arm stopped him before he could step out of the door, and she reached up impulsively, drawing his head down to hers to kiss him on the lips. 'Thank you.'

  Rafe stared at her, his neck and shoulders taut beneath her hands and his features impassive except for the visible tightening of the muscles along the side of his jaw. 'Do you miss living in the city?'

  The question was as unexpected as his cool response to her kiss, and she dropped her hands to her sides to take an embarrassed pace away from him. 'No, I don't miss the city,' she answered truthfully.

  'What stopped you from settling down the last time?' he demanded with that underlying anger in his deep, throaty voice.

  Your mother. The words spilled into her mouth, but she gulped them back forcibly because it would not have been the truth. A great deal of the blame could be laid at her own door, but this was neither the time nor the place for a full confession.

  'I was younger then, and perhaps a little immature,' she replied, passing off his query with a shrug and avoiding his dark, probing gaze. 'What does it matter now?'

  'Perhaps you weren't assertive enough.'

  Jo had discovered that truth for herself a long time ago. She had retreated into her shell instead of fighting for her rights as Rafe's wife. Time had not eradicated the problem as she had hoped it would, and the only thing she had achieved was to drive herself into a strangulated corner of her own making.

  'Would it have changed anything if I had been more assertive?' she asked, despising herself for that eternal flame of hope that burned inside her, and she had all the more reason to hate herself when his eyes flicked over her dispassionately.

  'Probably not,' he concluded, ducking his head to step through the door, and then he was striding away in the direction of the stables.

  Jo's heart felt heavy when she walked back to the house. After five weeks of marriage to Rafe she was still finding it difficult to adapt to the emotional see-saw her life had become. There had been times when she had felt the tension ease between them, but then, without warning, Rafe would shatter that illusion of normality in their relationship.

  Why did he do it? And why did she sometimes get the feeling that the terrible anger inside him was directed at her? What had she done to deserve it?

  More questions! Dear God! When was she going to get some answers?

  The activities in and around the house kept Jo too busy during the ensuing three weeks to dwell on questions for which she could find no answers. The store-room had been cleaned out and repaired within a week, as Rafe had promised, but it took another week to move in. Jo had made the curtains, but the women had furnished the store-room themselves with odd chairs and tables which they had brought from their homes.

  Jo was happy that she had this project with which to keep herself occupied, but she had already begun to look ahead. The homecraft classes would eventually peter out, and then, perhaps, the store-room could be converted into a clinic, but that was still in the future, and Jo was not so sure that Rafe would agree. The flat had also reached completion, with a door being broken through into the living-room. This would give Averil direct access to the house as well as a private exit into the garden. Jo had taken the noise and the mess of the building operations in her stride, but when she had tried to question Rafe about it his features had become hard and forbidding, and she supposed she would simply have to wait until he saw fit to give her an explanation.

  She also received news from her mother during this time. Lavinia Harris had written a pleasant and informative letter, but Jo could still not shake off that curious feeling that something was not as it should be. Her imagination was running riot, and she could not rein it in. Something was wrong, but for some obscure reason the truth was being hidden from her.

  Jo left the house one morning to embark o n her usual walk up on to the koppie, and the air was scented and warm with the first day of spring less than a week away. The bank of clouds on the horizon was heavy w i t h the promise of rain, but sometimes, for weeks and months on end in the Karoo, that w a s all the clouds would be — a promise of rain lurking on the far distant horizon. She raised her hand to shade the morning sun from her eyes as she glanced in the direction of the neighbouring property. The Schcepers's farm lay to the east of Satanslaagte, and the boundary dividing the two vast properties was situated approximately a mere hundred metres beyond the e a s t e r n slope of the koppie. Jo had not seen Lorin these past weeks, but she had bumped into Chris on one occasion when she had gone shopping in Beaufort West. They had had tea together, and Jo could remember thinking that he had become a rather gaunt replica of the man she had once known.

  A movement caught Jo's eye just as she was about to turn her back on the sun and, using both her hands to shade her eyes, she stared out across the veld beyond Satanslaagte's boundary to where a clump of acacia trees grew lustrously beside a windmill in the distance.

  A horse had been tethered to one of the acacia trees. It was the dapple-grey mare which Chris always favoured,
and there was no mistaking the man who was sitting on the edge of the low drinking-trough beside the water tank. It was Chris.

  That was odd, she thought. The camp was not being grazed, and the only reason for dismounting in that particular spot would be to repair the windmill or to check the flow of water, but Chris was doing neither.

  Something was wrong!

  Jo hurried down the eastern slope of the koppie with Fritz bounding down ahead of her, and she jogged the remaining hundred metres towards the boundary.

  'Go home, Fritz. Go home, boy,' she instructed the Alsatian when she reached the fence. Fritz whined and dropped his tail between his hind legs, but he had been trained well, and he did as he was told. 'Good boy, Fritz,' Jo encouraged the animal on his way.

  The jackal fencing was more than a metre high, and she climbed over it cautiously, taking care not to catch her denims on the cruel wire barbs. She still had a long way to go when she dropped down on the other side, at least another hundred metres or more, and she was glad that she had exercised daily when she started out across the scrub-covered earth at an easy, jogging pace.

  Jo slowed down to a walking pace when she neared the windmill. Chris was still sitting on the edge of the knee-high concrete trough in the shade of the acacias. His head was bowed, his elbows rested on his khaki-sheathed thighs, and his hands hung limply between his knees. He did not hear Jo approaching, and her steps faltered when she was a few paces away from him. She felt unsure of herself, but it was too late now to wonder if she had the right to intrude.

  'Chris?' She spoke his name softly, and she was shocked when he lifted his head to look at her. His jaw was unshaven, his glazed eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded, and he looked as if he had aged years since the last time she had seen him. 'I was up on the koppie when I saw your horse, and I realised something was wrong. What is it, Chris?'

  'They called early this morning,' he said, his throat working and his eyes filling with tears. 'She's dead, Jo. Alice is dead.'

  'Oh, Chris, I'm so sorry!' She went to him then, to comfort him, and she held him against her like a child with his head resting against her breast.

  'Do you know that I actually prayed for this?' he told her. 'I believed I'd feel better when it was all over, but I don't.'

  'It will take time,' she said quietly, stroking his hair in a soothing gesture until the silence was disturbed by a mournful squeal emanating from the windmill when the breeze drifting across the veld turned the blades.

  'Oh, lord, I'm making quite a spectacle of myself, aren't I?' he groaned, relinquishing his hold on her and looking embarrassed.

  'It's all right, Chris,' she responded calmly, seating herself beside Mm on the edge of the trough and looking away when he reached into his trouser pocket for his handkerchief. 'You're just being human,' she added reassuringly.

  Chris blew his nose and wiped his eyes. It took a while for him to regain control, and his voice was reasonably steady when he finally informed her of his plans. 'I'm leaving for George this afternoon to help with the funeral arrangements,' he said.

  'Are you taking anyone with you?' she asked, concerned about him driving all that way on his own and in his present emotional state.

  'My mother will be accompanying me.' He pocketed his handkerchief and sighed heavily as he stared down at his dusty boots. 'You know, I've been expecting this for a long time, but it was still such a shock when it happened.'

  'It always is.' She could still remember vividly what a traumatic time it had been for the family when her father had died, and, even though they had all known he would never recover from the stroke he had suffered, it had not diminished the shock of his eventual death.

  'What am I going to do, Jo?'

  'Take one day at a time,' she suggested quietly, 'and be grateful that it took months and not years to end everyone's suffering.'

  He nodded. 'Yes, I suppose I should be grateful for that.'

  The windmill squealed once again when the warm breeze shifting across the dry earth slowly turned the steel blades to pump a weak stream of water into the concrete tank behind them. Chris got to his feet after a while and the smile curving his mouth was devoid of humour. 'I guess I can't sit here all morning when there's work to be done.'

  'Keep in mind that work is an excellent therapy,' said Jo, getting up to dust the seat of her blue denims.

  'You sound as if you've had experience of that.'

  'I have,' she confessed with a wry smile as she walked with him to where he had tethered his horse. 'I'll be thinking of you, Chris, and I'll be praying for you.'

  'Thank you, Jo. You're a good friend.' He hugged her briefly and kissed her on the cheek before he mounted the dapple-grey mare. 'Would you like a ride to the fence?'

  'I'll walk, thanks,' she declined his offer, and he raised his hand in a casual salute before he rode off in the direction of the homestead.

  Jo felt sad as she walked the distance back to the boundary fence and climbed over it. Life could often be cruel, and fate had somehow dealt Chris the cruellest blow.

  She was skirting the koppie on her way back to the house when the pounding of a horse's hoofs on the hard earth made her stop and turn at the gate into the yard to see Rafe riding towards her from the direction of the plane trees which grew so densely further down along the boundary fence. The brim of his felt hat with the leather band was pulled down over his forehead, shading his eyes from the glare of the sun, but even at a distance Jo could see the hardness of his jaw and the thin, disapproving line of his mouth. Fritz ran alongside the black stallion, but he darted ahead the last few paces and bounded towards Jo to greet her with an excited bark. She bent down to pat the Alsatian, but backed away a couple of nervous paces when Rafe dismounted and tethered his horse to the gatepost.

  'When I saw Fritz arrive at the house without you I thought you'd fallen and injured yourself.' Rafe's dark eyes stabbed at her accusingly and there was a leashed fury in his manner when he thumbed his hat on to the back of his head. 'Now I know what these early morning walks are in aid of. It's a cover-up for your secret meetings with Chris!'

  Jo couldn't decide whether to feel amused or angry, but she was more inclined to feel the latter. Rafe had been observing her from the shadows of the plane trees while she had been comforting Chris—she realised that now—and he had drawn his own conclusions from what he had seen.

  'Alice Montgomery died this morning,' she said at length in a calm and admirably controlled voice, and the look on Rafe's face told her that he knew exactly whom she was speaking of. He did not deserve an explanation, Jo was thinking, but he was going to get one all the same. 'I was up on the koppie when I happened to notice Chris sitting under the acacia trees, and I wouldn't have gone to him if I hadn't suspected that something might be wrong. The news of Alice's death has upset him a great deal even though he's been expecting it, and I did what I could—as a friend—to comfort him. Wouldn't you have done the same?'

  Rafe's eyes burned down into hers for a moment before he spun away from her with a savage oath on his lips. 'God knows that lately there are times when I don't know myself!'

  'If that's an apology, then I accept it.'

  'Just a minute, Jo,' he said, his hand on her shoulder stopping her in her tracks when she would have turned on her heel to walk away from him.

  His ruggedly handsome face looked distorted through the film of angry tears which had leapt into her eyes, and she heard him mutter something unintelligible before she was caught up against his hard chest. The smell of horseflesh and sun mingled pleasantly with his particular brand of aftershave as he set his mouth on hers in a kiss that assaulted her senses, and she was shaken to the core when he finally released her to mount his horse.

  'I'll see you later,' he said abruptly, and then he was gone, urging the stallion into a wild gallop across the veld with Fritz following close behind.

  Jo watched him go until he was no more than a tiny moving speck in the shimmering distance, and suddenly she was smi
ling. Rafe was not quite as indifferent as he had wanted her to believe. He could still feel for others, and that was a warming thought which would stay with her for the rest of that day. CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jo WAS in a thoughtful mood when she dropped her earrings into the porcelain bowl on the dressing-table and stepped out of the white shoes she had worn with her lilac dress that evening. She was thinking about Chris, and wondering how he would cope with his loss, when she looked up to see Rafe emerging from the dressing-room.

  'My mother will be arriving home on Saturday,' he announced unexpectedly, taking off his towelling robe and getting into bed.

  So soon? The words screamed through her mind on a note of panic. 'Will you be meeting her at the airport in Cape Town?'

  'I'm sending Stan down to meet her.'

  Now! He'll have to tell me now! Jo picked up the nightdress that lay draped across the foot of the bed and said innocently, 'I'll see to it that her room is cleaned and aired before she arrives.'

  'That won't be necessary.' His eyes held hers, but his features remained inscrutable as he leaned back against the pillows and laced his fingers together behind his head. 'My mother will be staying in the flat which has been built on to the house, and her bedroom furniture, plus several other oddments from the house, will be transferred to the flat the day before she returns.'

  'Why haven't you told me this before?'

  'Until today there wasn't any need for you to be told,' he drawled lazily. 'It isn't any of your business, really.'

  'But it is my business, Rafe.'

  Anger propelled her towards the bed, but she found herself momentarily distracted by that aura of raw masculinity he exuded. She was staring at the wide expanse of his chest, and her eyes involuntarily trailed the narrowing V of body hair down along his taut, flat stomach to where the duvet formed a barrier across his lean hips, but then she had to take a firm grip on her flaring senses. This was her opportunity to find an answer to some of those troubling queries in her mind, and she was not going to let the moment pass.